The Rest is Silence
by enigma731
Summary: Two and a half years after her divorce, Cameron returns to a changed PPTH. COMPLETED: 6/27
1. Chapter 1

PAIRING: Chase-centric; mentions of canon Chase/Cameron; Foreman/Thirteen

WARNINGS: **season six spoilers; major character death; addiction; sex; violence**

NOTES: This is a future fic based on an AU in which Cameron moved away and divorced Chase in what would be the later part of this season as a result of the fallout from the Dibala case. This is probably the darkest thing I've ever written, at least at the beginning, and I really don't think canon will turn out like this. However, it's both comforting and fascinating to me to play with fixing a worst case scenario. That said, I feel like things have to get much worse in this story before they can get better, because that's a realistic picture of life. But I promise that this is actually a story about healing, and I hope that you'll stick with me until the end, regardless of what might happen in canon.

* * *

Chapter One

It's the week before Easter when Cameron gets the call, which seems oddly fitting. Holidays are still the time when she finds herself most haunted by her demons, and a new city has done nothing to give her any sense of distance. Her mother has been planning a family weekend for weeks, the traditional get-together Cameron hasn't had in nearly two decades, complete with relatives flying in. Still, it takes her less than a minute to make her decision after hearing Cuddy's voice. She gets on a plane the same day and directs the cab driver straight to the hospital, though it's well after midnight.

This is the first time in two and a half years that she has even considered coming back, and the sharp bite of the winter night air feels surreal as she gathers her luggage and makes her way up to the front door. Cameron steps into the atrium and pauses, feeling disoriented by the sudden and shocking familiarity. Almost nothing has changed in the atrium, and she has the eerie sense that the past three years could almost have been a dream, that tonight she could simply be on her way in to yet another late night shift in the ER. But the emptiness is just a little too still, and the ghosts of the way she left this place are too close to forget entirely. The light in Cuddy's office is on, Cameron realizes after a moment, though it's far past normal working hours, and she orients herself toward it.

Cameron knocks once, listening to the muffled echo in the late night hush, then opens the door a crack without waiting for a reply. Cuddy is hunched over her desk, completely absorbed in the blue file spilling over the surface in front of her, and she doesn't look up immediately.

"Bad time?" Cameron asks quietly, when nearly a full minute has passed.

Cuddy looks up slowly, and Cameron can't quite read her reaction. The worry lines in her face make her look as though she's aged far more than three years, and Cameron has the sudden sense of being much further away from this place than when hundreds of miles lay between.

"No." Cuddy shakes her head slowly, as though she doesn't have the energy for the emotions this meeting ought to elicit. Cameron recognizes in her the hollow kind of numbness she is accustomed to seeing in people at the bedside of their dying loved one. "I didn't expect you to get here so quickly. It's late."

Cameron frowns, surprised. "You said you didn't think there was much time."

Closing the file, Cuddy gets to her feet, a sort of muted tension seeming to thicken the air between them. "I don't."

"So—what?" asks Cameron, letting go of the handle of her suitcase to cross her arms. "You called but you didn't expect me to come?"

Cuddy sighs. "How should I know? You've been out of touch for almost three years. And you weren't at Foreman's wedding."

Cameron swallows, the familiar knot of guilt tightening in her stomach. Its very presence is enough to remind her of exactly why she hadn't been able to find the strength for a visit then. "That was different."

Cuddy softens ever so slightly, coming around to lean against the front of her desk. Her clothes are uncharacteristically wrinkled, and Cameron wonders how long it's been since she last went home. "It's good to see you again. I wish it was under better circumstances."

Cameron thinks again of the wedding, and the photos Foreman had sent her afterward. But that is done now, simply one more missed opportunity, and it isn't why she is here. "How is he?"

Cuddy is silent for a long moment, visibly trying to find the words. This is a day they've all been anticipating for the past ten years, Cameron knows, but somehow convinced themselves would never actually come. "He's—still House. Liver function's practically nonexistent. Medication's having no effect. He _should_ be in withdrawal, but--" Cuddy breaks off and shakes her head again.

"But?" Cameron asks sharply, understanding the implication at once.

"He's still getting Vicodin, somehow. No one will admit to giving it to him, but it's the only explanation."

"And you're letting it happen?" Cameron asks incredulously, unable to stop herself.

"What else do you suggest I do?" Cuddy shoots back. "His department is the closest thing he's got to a family at this point. I'm not going to bar them from visiting him. The damage is done. He's dying either way. If he'd rather go quickly and pain-free, who am I to stop him?"

Cameron swallows, surprised by the sudden flood of emotion making it difficult to speak. "I should get up there, then."

Cuddy nods. "Room 420. And last I checked, the whole department was still there. He's got them on a witch hunt for some other cause. When he's lucid, anyway."

Cameron takes a shaky breath and balances her suitcase against the wall. "Still House." She's almost out the door when Cuddy speaks again.

"Allison."

Cameron pauses, turning back over her shoulder.

"If you haven't already found a hotel, I have a guest room."

–

Cameron pauses outside the elevator, feeling lost in the long hallway, though there was a time when she traveled it multiples times a day on her way to and from the office. Most of the lights have been dimmed for the night, and she takes comfort in this as she makes her way slowly toward 420, feeling as though she might be able to conceal her true emotions in the elusive shadows should the need arise. The door to House's room is open a crack, and she freezes again, trying to see the inside from her angle. Cuddy's words are suddenly woefully inadequate, and she finds herself needing to know exactly what she is walking into.

From inside, there is silence. She can only see one side of the room, but it is empty save for the IV pole and cardiac monitor, which look foreign and crowded in the corner. Sucking in a deliberately slow breath, Cameron turns at last and forces herself to walk the final few steps into the room, a distance which somehow feels longer than the entire rest of her trip combined.

Her eyes fall on House first—flushed a sickly alien color by jaundice—but only for a moment. Chase is seated alone on the other side of the bed, she sees now, and he looks up immediately, trapping her in the ache of nostalgia and the bitterness of his gaze. For an instant it is as though her intentions for this trip have fallen away into the night, as though she has come to see only him and in this already failed.

The beeping of the cardiac monitor is too loud in her ears, impossibly slow in comparison to her own heartbeat pounding in her temples. Chase looks like an entirely different person, and yet somehow not so changed at all. There's something sharper about the lines of his face, the ill fit of his clothes betraying the fact that he's lost weight. But it's his eyes she can't look away from, dulled somehow as though he is even farther away from this world than House. When he gets to his feet there's a jerky tautness to the way he moves, like his body can't quite remember how to function as a whole, and his hands shake when he snaps shut the chart he's been reading.

"Why are you here?" Chase asks at last, more of an accusation than a question, and Cameron feels herself flinch though she's expected nothing different.

"Cuddy called me." She lifts her chin and forces herself not to look away.

"I told her not to."

"What, you thought I wouldn't come?" She's already tired of defending herself to the people here.

Chase scoffs. "Knew you'd come. Just didn't want you here." With a curt nod in House's direction, he turns and sweeps out of the room before she can collect herself enough to reply.

For a moment Cameron stands focused on the empty doorway, feeling too far behind everything that's happening tonight. It isn't until House clears his throat roughly that she remembers why she's come here, turning toward the bed and trying to center herself once more.

"He doesn't mean it," House says in a voice that is barely recognizable. Cameron moves to the side of the bed, but can't bring herself to sit in the chair Chase has just vacated.

"What?" At first she thinks he must be hallucinating, overwhelmed by the drugs and toxins coursing through his ruined body.

"Chase," House answers, and now the condescension in his voice is obvious. "He hasn't stopped wishing you'd come back for a single minute since you left."

"I didn't come here to talk about Chase," Cameron interrupts sharply. Though if she is honest with herself, the prospect of seeing Chase was at once her biggest hope and the reason she'd been unable to face a visit before this.

"Right." House turns his head toward her on the pillow, and it seems to require a huge amount of effort. "You wanted career advice. Oh wait. You ruined that too when you ran away."

"House--"

"The two of you should have had a white picket fence and two and a half disgustingly over-achieving toddlers by now. You ran away, and denying it is easier than looking back."

"Let me talk!" Cameron interrupts, more loudly than she's intended, and House shrugs, going silent at last. "I came here because—I wanted to tell you what a difference you made in my life. Both professionally and personally. It was—an honor. There are people who care about you. You should know that, especially now." They are the words she repeated over and over on the airplane, yet now they feel shallow and empty.

"If you don't stop running away, the next call you get will be about Chase," House continues loudly, as though she's said nothing at all.

Cameron steps back from the bed with a start, heart pounding again. "You're delirious. I—should go."

"Cameron." House manages to haul himself upright against the back of the bed, surprising her with the sudden pressure of his hand on her wrist. She holds her breath. "You weren't wrong to leave. But I wish you hadn't."

With those words, reality settles heavy in her heart, and Cameron knows that House is going to die very soon.

* * *

Feedback is appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

PAIRING: Chase-centric; mentions of canon Chase/Cameron; Foreman/Thirteen

WARNINGS: **major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence**

NOTES: This is a future fic based on an AU in which Cameron moved away and divorced Chase in what would be the later part of this season as a result of the fallout from the Dibala case. This is probably the darkest thing I've ever written, at least at the beginning, and I really don't think canon will turn out like this. However, it's both comforting and fascinating to me to play with fixing a worst case scenario. That said, I feel like things have to get much worse in this story before they can get better, because that's a realistic picture of life. But I promise that this is actually a story about healing, and I hope that you'll stick with me until the end, regardless of what might happen in canon.

* * *

Chapter Two

Foreman is standing in the lobby when Cameron rushes through the glass doors the next morning. The sun isn't up yet, and the air has a sharp sting more characteristic of fall than late spring. She's only been gone for a few hours, and the world has the muted far-off feeling she's has come to recognize as too much stress and too little sleep. Cameron stops abruptly when she catches sight of Foreman. He's leaning against the information desk, and she has the dizzying sense that all the ghosts of this place are catching up now that she's stopped the previous day's constant movement.

"You got here quickly," says Foreman by way of greeting. He looks as though he can't quite decide what to make of this meeting.

"I was here last night," Cameron answers, already prepared to be on the defensive. "You weren't."

"My wife needed me to be at home," Foreman answers pointedly, and Cameron recognizes the comment for what it is. Foreman has never gone so far as to openly disapprove of her decision to move away, but his feelings have been more than evident in the barely-controlled bitterness of some of his letters. Cameron has always found reasons not to answer his occasional phone calls, because hearing it spoken aloud in his voice would make it so much more real.

Cameron nods once, not about to challenge him. "Well, I got your message and I'm here now. What happened? You made it sound like an emergency."

Foreman sighs. "It is, I guess. I knew you'd want to be here, anyway."

"What happened?" Cameron asks again, anxiety growing. She's spent the night thinking about House's warning, his words about Chase haunting the few hours of sleep she's managed to get.

"House had a seizure about an hour after you left. Chase was able to get him stabilized, but I don't think there's much time. He's been comatose ever since, and vital signs are decreasing. I thought we should meet to discuss options."

"We? Why me?" Cameron asks without thinking, and the words sound insensitive now that they are out in the air.

Foreman frowns. "Because I know you care about House. You came all the way here because you wanted to be a part of this."

"I know." Cameron bites her lip. "I just meant—I've been gone for almost three years. Being included now is—a little weird." She crosses her arms, feeling suddenly very cold.

"Look, Allison--" Foreman sighs again, heavily, and Cameron can see that this is affecting him just as much as it is everyone else. "I know this can't be a pleasant way to have come back. But you're a good doctor, no matter what. And you care more than anyone else I know. I could really use your help."

They are silent on the way back up to the fourth floor. The elevator feels too small, filled with tension, an entirely different place than the previous night when Cameron had taken refuge in it. She's expected the old office to feel different somehow, filled with boxes or maybe even a crowd of strangers. But it appears almost unchanged, the same books and clutter she remembers from her first day working in it.

Chase is seated alone at the far end of the table, looking even more worn than the night before. Cameron doesn't need to be close enough to read the papers fanned on the table in front of him to know that he's worked the file into a desperate mess.

"We need to call Cuddy," he tells Foreman immediately.

"She's at home with Rachel," says Cameron automatically. The last thing she wants to do is challenge him, and she can already see the resentment barely concealed in his movements.

"Great," Chase snaps after a moment, still avoiding Cameron's eyes. "So get her on the phone and get her in here."

"I talked to her this morning," Cameron continues evenly. This is a medical emergency, and they all need to act without bringing personal history into it. "She said she didn't want to be called unless there's a specific action to be taken. Or if he's--"

"There _is_ a specific action," Chase interrupts, saving her from finding a way to finish that sentence. "We need to convene an emergency meeting of the transplant committee. It's the only option that could buy him more time."

Foreman shakes his head before Cameron can even begin to come up with a response. "You know that's insane. Even if we could get Cuddy and the committee to agree to a meeting at this hour—which they won't—the odds of House surviving a transplant surgery in this condition are astronomical. We'd be throwing away a healthy liver. And they won't vote in his favor to begin with. You know we tried months ago."

Cameron pulls out the chair closest to her and sits heavily in it, suddenly feeling too weighed down by the reality of loss and exhaustion to continue standing in this confrontation. Chase shoots her long look before continuing with Foreman.

"Months ago it wasn't an emergency," he insists.

"_Months_ ago, he could have given up Vicodin and drastically improved his prognosis," Foreman counters, leaning against the wall next to the door and crossing his arms. "He didn't. Not until it was much too late."

"He didn't at all," says Cameron, remembering Cuddy's words, and both men turn to look sharply at her.

"He told you he's still on Vicodin?" Foreman sounds shocked.

"No. But do a tox screen. You'll find it. He's not in withdrawal, is he? I know you remember what it was like in the past. You think it would be so easy this time?" It's a bold statement, and Cameron bites her lip, waiting for the fallout.

For a moment there is unbearable silence, then Foreman rounds on Chase. "You've been giving it to him."

Chase gets to his feet so quickly that his chair nearly falls over backwards, an intensity of anger in his eyes that Cameron has never seen before. "And why the hell would you think that?"

"Because she's right!" Foreman steps away from the wall, matching Chase's volume, and Cameron has the sudden awful feeling that she's lit a match to tinder. "Maybe we wouldn't be able to separate physical withdrawal symptoms from the liver failure, but he should at least be having cravings! He was _awful_ whenever he tried to detox before. Lately he seems almost—happy. And besides, you've spent the past two years looking for as many reasons as possible to be angry at Cameron. If it wasn't you, you'd be yelling at her, not me."

Chase is quiet for a long moment, hands curling into fists at his sides as he visibly fights for control. Cameron feels a knot of panic uncoiling in the pit of her stomach, but she's rooted to the spot, entirely unable to leave now even if she could make that decision.

"He was dying already," Chase manages at last. His hands are shaking again and he shoves them into his pockets. "No reason he should have to be even more miserable than he already is."

"You're serious," says Foreman, as though he can't actually believe it now that his accusation has been validated.

Chase's jaw tightens, everything about him tense to the breaking point. "Said I should consider it his last wishes. I wasn't about to deny him that."

"Damn it, Chase!" Foreman explodes at last, slamming his palm against the table. Cameron jumps, feeling as though she's walked back into a nightmare that's had two and a half years to only worsen.

Chase flinches, but says nothing further.

"All this time," Foreman continues incredulously. "Weeks! I've been staying here all night. Made a wreck of my personal life. I've been wasting my energy trying to help you come up with some kind of miracle cure and all the while you were feeding him poison!"

"Yeah," Chase says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "It was all about you. Did it just to piss you off. Except I couldn't care less what you think of my decision."

"Why not just inject him with a syringe full of morphine, then?" Foreman shouts, all attempts at civility gone. "That would've been quicker! Less painful! And we all know you're capable!"

Chase moves lightning-quick around the table to take a swing at Foreman, and Cameron stumbles backwards out of her chair in shock. But Foreman manages somehow to catch wrist, and in that half-second, pagers go off in unison. Everyone freezes. Nearly a full minute passes before Foreman looks at his, but Cameron is already certain what he's going to say.

"We need to get back to House's room now. We just ran out of time." Dropping Chase's wrist, he turns and leaves the room without another word. Cameron follows in a rush, feeling propelled by the venom in the office air and Chase's presence behind her.

* * *

Feedback is appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Three

For all the years she's spent working with critically ill patients, there are only a few deaths Cameron truly remembers. The sense of failure, loss, the devastated looks on the faces of loved ones, and even the occasional guilt all have etched their way into her memory. They are the ghosts which haunt the quiet parts of her mind on the rare occasion that more personal demons are absent. But the moment of death itself, muted by the clamor of monitors and other people's tears, nearly always slips by unnoticed until after it has already passed.

On this morning, with the world shrouded in the gray fog of just before dawn, Cameron finds that there are no memories of this sort stirring. Once, any experience with death transported her instantly to her first husband's bedside, practically able to feel the air sucked from her own lungs as he'd struggled to breathe the last few hours. But now there is nothing, no specters or even ruined nostalgia for the home this place once was. There is only the shrill sound of alarms going off as she approaches the door to House's room, and the exhaustion which blurs the edges of the world.

Wilson and Cuddy are already in the room, Cameron notes with surprise, and she wonders suddenly if Foreman was the last to be informed. Chase quickens his pace, pushing past Cameron and then Foreman, who shoots him a look which says their score is far from settled. Cameron follows quickly, stopping on the far side of the room, with House's bed between herself and the others like a barricade.

"What's going on?" Chase asks tightly, not even taking the time to read the monitors himself.

"He had another seizure," Wilson answers grimly. He looks as worn as everyone else, Cameron thinks. It's as if they've all been lending pieces of their souls to House, and when he's finished fighting will leave their world with a hole at its core.

"We have to do something," Chase insists, sounding panicked, and for a second it's as though the previous hour's fight might never have happened, everyone simply ready to rally in desperation.

"There's nothing to do!" Foreman exclaims before anyone can move toward further action.

"He's right," says Wilson, everything about him seeming heavy with resignation. "There was—brain damage during the seizure. EEG shows no response to any stimuli. He's already gone. Now it's just—waiting for his body to give up."

"We can't all just stand here doing nothing!" Chase paces a circle around the empty corner of the room, but it's too small a space even for that movement.

"We're not doing nothing," Cuddy answers, the deceptive calm of devastation evening her voice. "We're supporting him in the only way we can now."

Chase scoffs. "A lot of good that'll do when he's already braindead." He seems to realize instantly the implications of what he's just said, and he shoves wildly shaking hands into his pockets again, stopping mid-pace and turning away.

Suddenly Cameron remembers that she knows he was absent from both of his parents' deaths, and an overwhelming sympathy overtakes the blanket of numbness that's seemed to cloak the morning's events. For the first time since returning, she recognizes deep-seated grief behind his facade of anger and resentment.

The alarms are still screaming, and Foreman has begun to discuss something quietly with Wilson, but Cameron can't bring herself to listen anymore, studying the shifting tension in Chase's back and shoulders until he turns around to glare at her, as though sensing her eyes on him. Beneath everything she sees suddenly the battle he's been fighting almost since the moment she met him, the struggle to never fall apart with anyone watching. House's words come to mind yet again, and Cameron wonders what secrets have been erased from the once-great life now fading before their eyes.

"Chase," she breathes, barely recognizing the sound of her own voice. "Come here."

Everyone else in the room turns momentarily to look at her, but Cameron forces herself not to react. She expects some trenchant remark in reply, but Chase surprises her by moving silently to stand on her side of the bed. He is shaking badly, she notices now that he's close enough to see. Instinctively, she reaches out to lay a hand on his arm, and he flinches away as though she's slapped him instead.

Before anyone can say another word, the monitors go flat, and Cameron finds her attention drawn at last to House's body on the bed. For a few breaths, everyone is still, absorbing the reality of what's just happened. Then, wordlessly, Wilson turns and switches off the monitors. Chase rushes out of the room and vanishes down the hallway before Cameron can manage to piece a thought together.

Finally, there is nothing left but awful silence, and the sense that she is still waiting to feel grief for this man who was in so many ways a mentor and a curse. Her life ought to seem much emptier now, she knows. And yet Cameron can find only the sense of surreal detachment which has become her constant over the past three years.

–

House has no family to arrange a funeral. Foreman takes the remainder of the week off to spend time at home. Chase disappears. Cuddy and Wilson both make themselves incredibly busy at work, and Cameron finds herself volunteering for the responsibility. She remembers how to do this, how to be all business and put grief aside to focus on the details. The next few days pass in a blur of telephone calls and procedure.

The funeral home is nearly empty; it's not a large room, yet barely the first three rows of seating are filled. There's hardly anyone here Cameron can't identify. In the front, Cuddy and Wilson sit together, looking as hollow as she's expected and as though they don't quite know how to be a comfort to one another. The three current diagnostics fellows are sitting together toward the corner. Cameron has never heard their names, but she knows them in the way they look at one another, in the sense of desperate camaraderie that can only be understood by living it.

Further back, Foreman sits with his arm around Thirteen, who is all but unrecognizable. Cameron could not tear her eyes away from them walking in, how labored her movements have become, the rebellious spark which used to be so maddening now entirely gone. Chase is alone, hunched in the back corner with his arms crossed tightly. He's obviously been crying, and looks especially unsteady on his feet, but during the service his face is a mask of glassy-eyed impassivity.

The funeral itself is brief and impersonal, more a symbolic act of closure for everyone involved than a tribute to House's life and accomplishments. No one manages to speak, and Cameron can practically hear House making some remark about how it is particularly fitting. She knows he never thought much of funerals, and that is her only consolation in her own inability to offer any words. She still feels far away, the gap between herself and these people too wide to reach across.

When it is over, everyone leaves in a hurry, as though they can avoid the loss if they don't see it in one another's faces. Cameron lingers, watching, and feeling a vague sense of disembodiment. Foreman disappears with Thirteen immediately, then comes back a few moments later, alone, in time to catch Chase who is having an unusually difficult time putting his coat back on.

"Meeting first thing tomorrow morning," Foreman says, though Chase still isn't looking at him. "Are you going to be there? I was told you haven't been to work in a week."

"Heard the same thing about you," Chase snaps, slurring just a little. Cameron takes a few steps closer, needing to hear the rest of this conversation. At the moment she can't find it in herself to care what the others left in the room think of her actions.

Foreman clears his throat. "I took vacation. Approved vacation. You just went missing. You're lucky Cuddy didn't decide to fire your ass."

Chase shrugs, regarding Foreman with an expression resembling a sneer. "You always cared too much about protocol."

"And you wouldn't be such a mess now if you'd followed it more often!" Foreman exclaims, then seems to remember where he is, lowering his voice accordingly. "Are you coming to the meeting or not?"

But Chase only laughs, much too loudly, and this time people do turn to stare. Foreman looks aghast, and Chase takes a clumsy step backwards, nearly losing his balance on the perfectly even floor and catching himself on the arm of a chair.

"Are you _drunk_?" Foreman asks disgustedly.

Chase shrugs. "Would it matter? Would anyone notice?"

"I noticed!" Foreman throws up his hands. "Get out. Don't bother coming in tomorrow morning."

"You're not my boss!" Chase insists, moving toward Foreman and getting obviously too close. "You can't fire me!"

The room is deadly silent now, everyone watching this exchange in shock. Glancing around, Cameron notes with relief that at least Cuddy has already left. She wonders if she ought to intervene, but thinks from her experiences over the past week that her attempts would almost certainly only make this worse.

"No, I can't," says Foreman dangerously. "But I can make damn well sure that Cuddy does."

Chase snorts. "Like that would ever happen. The department's _nothing_ without me. 'Specially now that House's kicked it. Team's _useless_ and you're too distracted by your dying wife!"

"Chase!" Foreman shouts. He grabs Chase by the arm and attempts to haul him out of the room by force before he can do any more damage.

Chase takes one step forward, then another, then stumbles and crumples to the ground with the sound of dead weight. Foreman doesn't let go, and gets dragged to his knees, instantly shaking Chase's shoulder. When Foreman looks up again, his expression is even more incredulous than before. "He's unconscious."

* * *

Feedback is appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

WARNINGS: **major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence**

* * *

Chapter Four

The ER waiting room is nearly empty. A woman with a coughing baby is huddled in the far corner, and a heavyset older man is ranting loudly into a cell phone about how he's pretty sure he's broken his foot while attempting to re-tile the bathroom. Cameron curls up in a chair near the back and watches the clock hands move to a steady background drone of people coming and going.

Foreman and Chase arrived ahead of her in an ambulance; this isn't a true emergency, and asking to ride along had seemed strangely intrusive. It feels odd, being on the outside now. She's spent so much time working here that she can visualize everything going on behind these emergency room doors, yet knows that now she is powerless to cross over their threshold unless invited.

Nearly three hours pass, and Cameron is beginning to wonder whether she is ever going to get news when Foreman emerges. He's lost his suit jacket somewhere in this whole ordeal, and he looks a mix of harried and concerned Cameron has never seen in him before. He starts immediately toward the exit without so much as a glance around the waiting room, and she's forced to run after him with the sinking realization that once again, no one has expected her to be here.

"Foreman, wait!"

He stops and turns, looking shocked. "You're still here?"

"Yeah, I'm still here," Cameron snaps, her tone more confrontational than she's really intended.

Foreman takes a breath, visibly trying to calm himself. Cameron wonders exactly what has just gone on behind those closed doors. "Sorry. Just—assumed you'd want to get home as quickly as possible now that the service is over. Didn't you have family plans?"

Cameron sighs, trying not to remember her mother's string of disappointed phone calls. Her entire life of late seems to be defined by shortcomings. She should have made more time for family. Should never have moved away from Princeton. Should feel intense grief over House's death. But she doesn't, the same tiring numbness in its place. She's beginning to wonder whether the past few years have taken her ability to feel anything but regret. "Thought you might need me here. And my flight's not until tomorrow night anyway."

"Oh." Foreman nods once, still not seeming to connect entirely.

"What's happening with Chase?" Cameron crosses her arms, already anticipating his judgment of her question.

Foreman shrugs. "Still out. They're going to admit him overnight for observation. And to make sure he doesn't drink more."

Cameron frowns. "He's been unconscious this whole time?"

"More or less." He sounds more annoyed than concerned. "He's drunk and exhausted. Probably hasn't slept in a week. I wouldn't worry about it too much."

"Wouldn't worry about it?" Cameron repeats incredulously. "Foreman, he was drunk enough to pass out! At a funeral!"

"And we should probably be glad that's all he did," Foreman answers darkly.

For a moment Cameron can only stare at him, her anxiety growing. They have never talked about Chase during their brief contacts, and she wonders now what she's missed. "Does drink often?"

"He was drinking before you left," Foreman answers evenly. "You knew that. After—it only got worse."

"You didn't do anything about it?" Cameron asks, horrified.

"What was I supposed to do?" Foreman asks sharply. "He doesn't do it at work. It's not my problem or any of my business."

"He needs to get help!" Cameron insists, sickened.

"I know he's seeing a psychiatrist. Don't know what it's for, officially. That was good enough for me."

"You never asked him? This is important! If he's—"

"Allison," Foreman interrupts forcefully. "_Don't_. You haven't been here. You don't know."

Cameron flinches, hard.

"I have to go," Foreman says before she can ask him anything further. "Need to make sure Remy got home all right."

"She doesn't drive anymore?" Cameron asks, suddenly remembering her at the funeral.

"No," says Foreman. "Can't."

Cameron bites her lip. "I'm sorry."

"I'll see you tomorrow," Foreman says in reply. "Make sure you find me. We should have coffee before you leave."

"Okay," she agrees quietly. "What room did they put Chase in?"

Foreman stiffens again. "Not a good idea."

"I'm not going to interrogate him." Cameron touches his arm lightly. "You know I have to do this."

Foreman sighs heavily, then reaches into his pocket and hands her a scrap of paper with the information scribbled on it.

–

The wing of the hospital where Chase has been admitted has been renovated sometime recently, and the walls are a new shade of blue. Cameron thinks she ought to feel disoriented here, her fresh start conflicting with the hospital's, but all she can see is the way things used to be. One more failure to add to the mounting litany. Sitting in the chair beside the bed, she can't stop remembering being here with Chase on the night of his bachelor party. He looks impossibly worse than he did then, thinner than she remembers him barely a week ago, and haggard even in sleep.

Time seems to stand still, or somehow rush by outside of her awareness as the afternoon stretches into night and still he doesn't stir. Cameron thinks about sleeping next to him, and how his sudden absence from their bed had been the first sign of imminent ruin. It seems paradoxically appropriate that she is the one awake and watching over him now, unable to sleep though she learned decades ago how to do it in a hospital chair. She feels used up, worn out and helpless as though a century has passed since she was last in this position.

It's nearly midnight when Chase finally begins to wake. Cameron is staring at the wall, watching memories play out at the corners where her vision blurs, and she doesn't notice until he clears his throat roughly.

"Hey," Cameron says, as much to bring herself back into the present as to actually greet him.

Chase turns his head on the pillow and blinks at her, looking as though moving the rest of his body is too much of a chore.

"You're in the hospital," Cameron continues lamely when the silence between them starts to become unbearably full of things unspoken.

Chase snorts, wincing. "Think I could've figured that one out on my own." He runs a hand through his hair, stopping to examine the IV catheter in his wrist as though he's not exactly sure what to make of it.

"You passed out at the funeral," Cameron continues, determined to stay calm. She has the sudden need to make peace with him before leaving in a day, and fighting with him now will only make things worse. "Do you remember?"

Chase starts to push himself up against the pillows, but stops in obvious discomfort and falls back again, giving up. Cameron aches to help him, but can't shake the memory of his reaction to her hand on his arm.

"Passed out _after_ the funeral," he corrects, as though this were the most important point of the matter.

"Fine, after. Do you remember?" Cameron repeats.

"I remember the funeral," Chase answers irritably, and Cameron knows that means he doesn't have any idea what happened afterward.

"You said some pretty awful things to Foreman," she says, testing. She doesn't recognize this new, bitter part of him, not even from the worst times right before she'd moved. "You should apologize. He's a good friend to you."

Chase sits up finally, scrubbing a hand over his face and taking a heavy breath. "Why're you here?"

"Foreman had to go home," she deflects.

"Doesn't explain why _you're_ here." Chase tugs lightly at the IV tape, and she can practically see his thoughts gauging how much force would be needed to rip it out.

"You're sick." Cameron shrugs, trying to look casual. "I thought someone should be—"

"I'm hungover," Chase interrupts. "I'm not dying. Not even sick enough for you to give a crap, so why don't you tell me why you're really here? Come looking for forgiveness? Absolution? I'm not gonna give it to you, so save us both the headache."

Cameron flinches, taking a deep breath and making the conscious choice not to snap back at him. "You were drunk. At House's funeral. And I have a feeling that's not the only time you've been drinking lately. Are you getting help?"

Chase laughs bitterly. "Go away."

"I'm not leaving until you answer me," Cameron insists.

Chase rolls his eyes and pulls harder at the IV tape. "Guess I'll be signing myself out now, then."

"It'll kill you," she continues desperately. "They found amphetamines in your bloodwork." Cameron takes a breath. "I know you're in trouble. Let me help you."

Chase crosses his arms, clearly starting to get angry. "I have a valid prescription."

"At those levels?" Cameron raises her eyebrows. "I looked at your chart. That's _way_ above a standard dose."

"You looked at my medical records?" His voice is low and dangerous now, and it sends a slither of panic down the back of her neck. "That's illegal. Get out now, or I'll call security and make sure you're barred from the hospital."

Biting her lip, Cameron stands, knowing she's taken a risk in this admission, and now will be powerless to do anything if he follows through on his threat.

"Chase," she says quietly, terribly hurt by his refusal to accept so much as her advice. She ought to expect and accept it, she knows, but that does nothing to lessen the blow. "I'm leaving tomorrow night."

"Good," Chase practically spits. "Don't come back. Nobody wants you here."

* * *

Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: Hope you all had a happy Halloween! What do you think of the update intervals on this so far? Are they too short? I'm never sure. Also, I can't promise that it'll _always_ be Wednesday/Sunday, but I've been trying for about that much time in between. Thank you so much for all the feedback so far! I'm blown away by you guys.

* * *

Chapter Five

"What happened?" Cuddy is still awake, to Cameron's surprise, sitting on her couch in a bathrobe and watching the late night news.

"Nothing," Cameron says quickly.

"That's convincing," Cuddy says dryly, sitting up straighter and switching the television off.

Cameron shrugs, caught off guard. She hasn't expected anyone to be awake; she's spent the whole way back from the hospital crying in her rental car, feeling blindsided by how hard Chase's words have hit. He has a right to be angry, she knows, and there's clearly something wrong beyond simple bitterness. When she'd made the decision to leave, and later to move ahead with the divorce, she'd known that she would never be able to preserve any part of their relationship. At the time it had seemed necessary, the less painful option to remove herself from his self destruction.

But now that she's back here, seeing the full extent of the aftermath, it feels unbearable to have no closure. It's a peculiar sense of absolute loss, creeping up in the most unexpected moments when she's still surprised by the revelation that he isn't there to support her, to make her laugh, to listen to the inconsequential secrets of her life. She can't delude herself into thinking that he will ever again be even so much as a friend, but suddenly she isn't sure how to move forward knowing that he harbors such deep hatred.

Cuddy clears her throat. "I heard they're keeping Chase in the hospital overnight. You went to see him, didn't you." It isn't a question.

"I'm not sure that's any of your business," Cameron answers slowly. Her relationship with Cuddy has always felt precipitous, ranging from intimidation to a subtle kind of competition, and finally growing into mutual respect and what Cameron thinks ought to be friendship. But she's been gone too long now, and she can't shake the feeling any misstep might plunge them back into conflict. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm going to pack up and head to the airport now. See if I can get on an earlier flight."

Cuddy frowns, and moves a pile of throw pillows to the other side of the couch. "Allison, sit down. Tell me what's going on."

Cameron obliges reluctantly, hoping the room is dim enough to hide the fact that she's been crying. Cuddy seems to have been transformed the past few years into someone paradoxically both softer and harder, more authoritative in her management of the hospital, but showing hints of motherhood in everything that she does.

"Nothing happened," Cameron insists stubbornly. She isn't sure exactly what it is that she's protecting: her own vulnerability, or Chase's crumbling image. "There's just no reason for me to be here anymore. House is gone, Foreman has his own family life, and--"

Cuddy nods slowly, and Cameron can see her mentally finishing that sentence. "And what about you? What do you have to go home to?"

Cameron is quiet for a long moment, surprising herself with the lack of an immediate answer. The truth is that Chicago doesn't feel like home anymore, but rather a regression, a return to this place she'd already outgrown when real life got too hard.

"Well, work," she says at last. "And my family." She realizes now that she'd come back to Princeton filled with hope for some validation, proof that she still has a family here. Instead, she's found herself in a world filled with bitterness and people already moved on.

"Are you happy there?" Cuddy asks, like she already knows the answer.

"Why are you asking me that?" Cameron counters warily. She's had her hopes crushed enough times that getting them up again seems like a reckless pursuit.

"Have you ever thought about moving back here?" It's turning into a game of questions, of weighing odds.

Cameron swallows, trying to find an answer which isn't too terrifying to put into words. Of course she has thought about it, every day since leaving and then some. She's tried to come up with reasons why things should be different this time around, but never managed to convince herself, and the more time that stretched out in between, the more set in stone her decision had become.

"For what?" she asks at last, thinking of the emptiness she's found here.

"At least stay long enough to come to the meeting tomorrow," Cuddy answers. "There are things you should hear. And you can still catch your original flight out afterward."

Cameron bites her lip and nods, another thought intruding into the mental quiet she's been trying to find. "Are you going to fire Chase?"

Cuddy gets to her feet, glancing at the clock which reads nearly two. "That's up to him."

"What does that mean?"

But Cuddy only shakes her head. "Come to the meeting."

–

Chase has somehow managed to get discharged in time to go home and shower before the meeting, though he doesn't actually look better at all. Cameron wonders whether he's signed himself out against medical advice, but she says nothing, sitting on the far side of the room and trying to avoid his gaze. Foreman settles between them, either oblivious or having decided not to care. The current fellows are nowhere to be found, to Cameron's surprise, and their absence makes the room feel strangely more crowded.

"Thank you all for coming," Cuddy says pointedly. "It's been a difficult week for all of us, so I'll try to keep this brief."

No one responds. Foreman seems to be focused on something behind the center of the far wall, and Chase is picking at the bandage which has replaced the IV catheter in his wrist.

Cuddy clears her throat, seeming keenly aware of the tension in the room. "I asked you all to come here today to tell you that I'm closing the department of diagnostic medicine. It was created for House's specific talents and reputation, and now that he is no longer with us, I can't justify the budget to the Board. Your team has already been notified, and I will do everything I can to assist them in seeking future employment. In the meantime, I'll need to know from Foreman and Chase if there are any patients you're seeing on a continuing basis who will need to be referred to other practices. And I need you to complete all outstanding paperwork and patient files."

Chase snorts. "Guess we know why Cameron's here. Have her do it."

"I'm leaving tonight," Cameron snaps, wondering why Cuddy was so intent on having her come to this meeting.

"You can't close the department," Foreman cuts in, surprising everyone.

"Excuse me?" Cuddy asks.

Foreman crosses his arms resolutely. "You can't close the department. That's not fair to us. Chase and I have been running it for months while House was sick. If you need to cut the budget, then get rid of the team, that's fine with me. We'll run it ourselves."

Cuddy shakes her head. "House had a reputation."

"So does Chase," Foreman insists, and Cameron turns to look at him in surprise. She's made it a point to avoid any news having to do with the hospital or Diagnostics, and again finds herself feeling left behind. Chase flinches almost imperceptibly at the mention. "You know that."

Cuddy sighs. "I'm sorry, but the answer is no. The two of you are good, but you're too inconsistent. If I let you run the department together, you'll end up killing each other. And god knows how many patients. At the very least, I'd need someone to supervise you, and no one at this hospital is qualified."

"I'll do it," says Cameron, shocking herself. Cuddy's words from the previous night play over again in her mind, and though she knows she might as well be throwing herself in front of a firing squad, it seems suddenly and fittingly her only chance at true retribution.

"Are you sure?" Cuddy asks.

Cameron nods, suddenly bolstered by a wave of the old adrenaline which has been missing from her life for so long. "If you think I'm qualified."

"Absolutely not," says Chase, finding his voice at last.

"Two choices," says Cuddy quickly, and Cameron has the dizzying sensation that this has already begun to spiral out of her control. "Accept Dr. Cameron as your boss, or I'm closing the department."

Foreman rounds on Chase. "You think anyone else is going to hire you? With your record? You think you'd even be able to function at another hospital?"

Chase stares Foreman down for nearly a full minute before getting to his feet. "Fine," he growls, then leaves without waiting to be dismissed.

"Welcome back." Cuddy turns to offer Cameron an exhausted smile, and suddenly she recognizes that this has been the plan all along. Cuddy has played them all like a brilliantly manipulated game of chess, and ended up with the result she's had in mind from the start.

"Good luck," says Foreman ominously, and claps Cameron on the shoulder before following Chase.

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Six

House's inner office is covered in dust cloths, like a macabre recollection of the time he'd spent at Mayfield three years ago. Cameron remembers coming here to see Foreman just after House's release, when she'd still been optimistic about everything, buoyed by the recent memories of her honeymoon and what had felt like the start of her second chance at happiness. Now, it seems as though she can trace that day as the epicenter of her life's collapse, House's first genuine attempt at healing the initial domino to fall in the avalanche which destroyed everyone's status quo. She remembers suddenly that Chase used to claim House's misery was the necessary foundation for everything else to function as it should. The irony seems especially fitting now.

It's a Saturday, and this wing of the hospital is unusually quiet, giving Cameron the illusion of intruding someplace she shouldn't. The keys to the Diagnostics office feel heavy and cold in her hand as she stands waiting for the others to arrive, alien as though she hasn't held them a thousand times before over the past nine years.

House has been dead for more than a week, yet it seems impossible to imagine that he will never walk through these doors again, won't be coming along at any moment to berate her for being at work on time. Cameron makes her way to the far side of the room and peeks out between the closed blinds, trying to find some difference in the landscape outside to prove that three years really have passed, and she hasn't simply gotten stuck in time.

"You actually brought cleaning supplies?"

Foreman's voice shatters her thoughts, and Cameron jumps a little, turning to find him examining the items she's set out on the otherwise-empty conference table. She nods.

"You really haven't changed," Foreman teases, then smiles sadly, knowing that it isn't true. People don't change, House always said, but now he is dead and their once-chosen family seems more like a group of strangers.

"Is Chase coming?" Cameron asks, trying to keep her voice casual. She already knows she won't be able to succeed in this job with everyone scrutinizing her actions toward him.

Foreman shrugs. "Don't know. I gave him your message about today like you asked."

"He didn't resign, did he?" she presses, suddenly nervous. She hasn't seen either of them since the meeting in Cuddy's office, and an ever-growing part of her is beginning to suspect that volunteering for this job was a terrible mistake, only garnering further resentment where she desperately craves forgiveness. She'd called Chase and Foreman here today under the guise of cleaning the inner office, hoping that she could at once make this new authority seem her own and judge their potential rebellion against it.

"He won't resign." Foreman puts his bag down and examines a pack of sponges Cameron has brought as though it's his newest pathology specimen. "He needs this job. It's the only things keeping him going right now. Even with you in charge." He pauses for a moment. "Or maybe especially with you in charge. I don't know."

Cameron swallows, unsure of how to take that answer. "And what about you? I didn't mean to step on your toes. Cuddy asked me to come to that meeting, and—"

Foreman shakes his head. "Cuddy played you. All of us. She set us up to get exactly what she wants for the hospital. That was obvious."

"I know." Cameron sighs. "I guess I just feel like I should have seen it coming."

"Allison." Foreman sighs, then hugs her gently, uncharacteristically open for a moment. "We all want you to come back. It's just a difficult time. If you can take over for House and save this department, I'm glad to have you do it. I just hope this is really what you want, because it's not going to be easy."

For a moment she can't find the words, feeling as though her life has been turned upside down the past few days, giving her a vague sense of homelessness. She already knows that she can't run away again, can't give up a second time and move back to the safety of Chicago. Yet her life here is far from settled.

"I'm sure," she says at last.

Foreman looks unconvinced. "You tell your parents? Your boss? This isn't a game, Allison."

Cameron grimaces. "I called my boss and resigned yesterday. My parents—just know that I'll be staying for a while longer." Her relationship with her family has been complicated for years; she is painfully aware that they regard her as misguided in her priorities and an utter failure when it comes to her personal life.

"When are you planning on telling them?" Foreman asks sharply.

Cameron shrugs, feeling attacked and unable to deal with this particular pressure at the moment. "Figured I might as well find a place to live first. Eventually I'll have to go back there for a few days to move everything. I can tell them then. In person."

"You're going to move first and tell your family later?" Foreman asks incredulously.

"Why does that surprise you?" Chase asks from the doorway.

Cameron sucks in a breath, unsure of how long he's been standing there unnoticed. She'd begun to assume that he wasn't coming, and now the realization that he might have overheard some unknown portion of her conversation makes Cameron feel irrationally vulnerable. "When did you get here?"

"It's her M.O.," Chase continues, as though she hasn't said anything. He takes a few steps into the room and puts his bag beside Foreman's on the table. "Run away. Don't tell anyone where you went. Leave them wondering if you're ever gonna come back."

"I'm here now," Cameron says defensively, and Chase laughs. She takes a deep breath and forces down the dozen possible retorts which spring to mind. This conversation is an argument waiting to happen, and now is not the time or place for it. "Are you feeling better?"

"Don't know what you mean," Chase answers flatly, glancing sideways toward the inner office which they have yet to enter.

"You'd better not be hung over," says Foreman dangerously.

Chase rolls his eyes. "You're not my boss. Can't fire me."

"I'm your boss," says Cameron instinctively, then immediately regrets it.

Chase looks even more amused, like she's given him a particularly exciting challenge, and Cameron feels the beginnings of real anger. "You _won't_ fire me."

"We're supposed to be here to clean out House's office," Foreman breaks in. "Let's do that."

Chase goes quiet, to Cameron's surprise, and she glances at Foreman before going to the door of the inner office and unlocking it. She can tell from the dust cloths and the cobwebs beginning to form in the corners that nobody has set foot in this room for months. Stepping into it has a strangely ritualistic feeling, and Cameron can tell that the others sense it too, tension falling away to an oddly somber hush.

Cameron pauses in the middle of the room, unsure of where to start. She's spent the past week feeling uncomfortably numb to the reality of House's death, yet in this moment the loss is more salient than she could have imagined, like a weight in the center of her chest, turning her blood to ice and stealing her breath away. Cameron bites her lip and swallows, finding herself blinking back tears. So she hasn't lost her capacity for grief, then, she realizes, and that is an unexpected relief.

Chase pulls the dust cloth from the chair with a snap, and Cameron jumps, the moment shattered. The chair is still spinning in place, Chase staring at it as though he's not quite sure how he's caused the motion. Cameron shakes herself and pulls the long cloth from the desk while Foreman goes to do the ones on the bookshelves and television.

"What the hell?" Foreman exclaims from behind her. The shelves are empty, Cameron realizes with a silent shock, the old television set gone.

Chase moves quickly to open one desk drawer, then all the rest in rapid succession. "Empty too."

For a second they all stand in silence, caught off guard one final time by House's mind, still three steps ahead of theirs even in sickness.

"He knew he wasn't coming back," Cameron breathes at last.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" Foreman asks Chase.

Chase flinches. "I had no idea!"

The surface of the desk is empty as well, save for the oversized red tennis ball, which is rolling precariously close to the edge. Chase snatches it from the air as it starts to fall, tossing it from hand to hand idly for a few moments, as if contemplating the meaning of its presence. It was left here deliberately, Cameron thinks, and she wonders whom House envisioned finding it. Chase takes an audible breath, face hardening into resolution, then looks up and throws the ball in her direction.

She surprises herself by catching it.

* * *

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	7. Chapter 7

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Seven

"You wanted to see me?" Cameron asks carefully, still feeling oddly formal as she sits on the far end of Cuddy's living room couch. She'd found the note stuck to the door of the guest bedroom upon leaving for work. She's been here nearly two weeks now, and the living room is filled with the scent of Chinese takeout on the coffee table. Rachel is curled up with a blanket on the floor in front of the television, watching cartoons, and Cameron finds herself filled with regret at the sense of intruding on a family life she will never have.

Cuddy nods, pointing to the food. "I got us dinner. Help yourself." Leaning forward, she begins spooning rice onto a plate, and Cameron recognizes the act of going through the motions to ignore this strange tension between them.

"Thank you." Cameron picks up a container of steamed vegetables and scoops some onto her own plate, though she isn't hungry in the least. It's been exhausting, going through all of the outstanding paperwork on her own to avoid the added trouble of getting Chase and Foreman to comply with her standards. The next few minutes pass in silence, save for the sound of the television, and Cameron pokes at the food on her plate, unable to eat more than a few bites.

"The records are almost finished," she says, when she can't remain quiet anymore. "Should all be resolved by tomorrow. And I'm going to start apartment hunting. I'll be out of your way soon. Or I could move to a hotel if you'd rather—"

"That's not what I wanted to talk to you about," Cuddy interrupts.

Cameron swallows, focusing on a pod of snow peas and puncturing it with her fork. "What did you need?"

Cuddy looks at her food. "I need to know about your relationship with Chase."

"What?" Cameron puts her plate down with a clatter, feeling as though she doesn't have the energy to hold it anymore. This is to be expected, she thinks, but she'd been hoping to avoid it through strict professionalism.

"Allison," Cuddy tries again, and the sympathy on her face is painful. "I'm asking you as a friend."

Cameron sighs, beginning to feel insulted by everyone's assumptions. She can't tell whether they are trying to protect her or themselves from her past. "No, you're not. You're my friend, but you'll always be my boss first. I know that. And I don't have a relationship with Chase. He's my employee. That's all."

Cuddy regards her for a long moment, and Cameron can't read her intentions. "You were married. You'll always have some sort of relationship. I need to know that you'll be able to do this job in spite of that."

"We worked together a lot longer than we were married," Cameron responds, frowning. "And why are you questioning me now? You set me up to take this job. You practically begged me to come to that meeting. Why bother with any of that if you didn't think I was fit to actually do it?"

"I'm sure you can do it," says Cuddy, setting her plate down as well. She looks guilty, Cameron realizes with surprise. "But you should know why I wanted you specifically. You deserve to know that, at least, before you make your move here permanent."

"Then tell me." Cameron crosses her arms and glances at the colorful cartoons on the television, unsettled.

"Five years ago, I put Foreman in charge of the department because I thought he could keep House under control," says Cuddy, and her tone sounds artificially measured.

"And now you're putting me in charge because you think I can control Chase," Cameron finishes as the pieces fit together, and the realization sits heavily in the pit of her stomach.

"If you want to change your mind, I'll understand," says Cuddy, picking up her fork and then putting it back down again. "But if you're going to run the department, you have to be committed to making sure no one gets hurt because of him."

"You think he's going to hurt people?" Cameron asks, shocked. The past two weeks have been more than enough to show her that Chase has changed, yet the idea that he would actually endanger anyone still seems utterly unbelievable.

"I think that Chase has a lot of reasons to be distracted right now." Cuddy picks up the container of vegetables and serves herself some. Her answer is an obvious understatement.

"You gave me the same warning when you made me House's boss," Cameron reminds her, still wondering what exactly Cuddy isn't saying. "I did fine then. Why would it be any different now?"

Cuddy raises her eyebrows. "House was out to push your buttons, test your authority. Chase—is looking for revenge, I think. Even if he doesn't know it. Are you prepared to deal with that?"

Cameron grabs her plate and hastily swallows a bite of rice to cover her reaction. "I think I know Chase better than you do," she says simply, though she isn't honestly sure anymore.

–

The next morning dawns cold and foggy, and Cameron finds herself filled with doubt by Cuddy's warnings, feeling surrounded by a wealth of secrets just beyond her reach. Leading the department feels like shooting in the dark. Though she's spent the past two and a half years working the every day mundanities of a walk-in clinic, she is absolutely certain that her professional abilities are more than adequate for this job. Yet everything personal is against her, and she's beginning to think she will never begin to feel in control there.

"We have a case," Cameron says by way of greeting, sliding the file across the table. Foreman and Chase are already here, and that unsettles her slightly. She isn't sure when they've started getting to work early.

"Ooh, our first case all by ourselves?" Chase mocks, snatching up the file and opening it. "So glad you're here to guide us. Don't know how we'd manage otherwise."

"Grow up, Chase," says Foreman, already sounding bored.

"Do you want to use the whiteboard?" asks Cameron, turning toward it. "Would that help?" It has House's handwriting on it, she notices, and realizes that it must not have been erased in a very long time. Again she has the sense of trespassing in haunted territory, and forces herself to swallow it down. This is her department now, her responsibility, and her downfall if she lets herself keep thinking like this.

"Yeah," Chase continues caustically, ignoring Foreman. "It's magic. It'll turn you into House. Maybe we could get you a cane, too, and then the delusion'd be complete."

"Enough." Foreman takes the file out from under Chase's nose and starts reading it himself.

"We're using the whiteboard," Cameron decides, and erases the writing with a sweep of her wrist.

"You have no right—" Chase starts loudly.

"I'll send you home," Cameron interrupts, letting him hear the threat in her voice. She understands the pain in his tone, and the sense of betrayal in moving forward, but also the danger in allowing House's ghost to overshadow her, even now. "House is dead. And he wouldn't have wanted us to turn this into a monument anyway. We have work to do."

"Claire Keller. College student," reads Foreman, holding up the first page of the case file. "Presented to the ER with bloody discharge from the left ear."

Cameron uses the excuse of writing this information on the whiteboard to avoid seeing Chase's reaction to her previous statement. She's glanced over the file on the way up here, but grateful to have Foreman repeat the facts in detail, too many things vying for her attention this morning. "History of ear pain?"

"Two weeks," Foreman answers. "She was seen by the campus health center and given a ten day course of antibiotics. No history of illness beyond the ear pain and discharge. No hearing loss or foreign body in the ear. No fever."

"Other current symptoms?" Cameron prompts, still focused on the whiteboard. She's expected the rhythm of this to come back reflexively, but so far it hasn't, feeling cumbersome and slow like everything else since she's been back in Princeton.

"Headache and facial pain," says Foreman, and Cameron can practically hear the frown in his voice. "Partial paralysis on the left side of the face. The ER didn't do a neurological exam. We should start there. Could be a brain tumor or a bleed."

"File said no history of trauma," Chase breaks in, focusing at last. "Can't have a bleed without trauma."

"The ER might not have asked the right questions," says Foreman. "And that still doesn't rule out a brain tumor."

"It could be a million other things," Cameron protests, suddenly unwilling to jump to the worst possible diagnosis first. "Allergy. Or persistent infection. The antibiotics she's on might not be strong enough or targeted enough. Or she might not have taken them as regularly as she should have."

"We have to at least rule out persistent infection before we can look for anything else," says Chase grudgingly, then, "Guess she's not entirely useless after all."

"Fine," says Foreman. "We'll do everything at once. CBC and metabolic panel to rule out persistent infection. CT to rule out brain tumor. And I still want to do a basic neurological exam."

Cameron nods. "Let's get the lab work and a better history first. It'll give you an idea of what to look for."

"I'll talk to the patient," says Chase, surprising her. He's already on his feet when Cameron finally turns to face them again. "Foreman can start on the lab work."

"I'm coming with you," Cameron insists, and forces herself to ignore the venom in his eyes as she follows Chase out of the room.

* * *

Tomorrow is my birthday. Feedback would be an excellent present. =p


	8. Chapter 8

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: Apologies for the excessive review replies yesterday. I was getting messages saying things weren't sending, and then they all appeared in my outbox a few hours later. Thanks for all the great feedback and birthday wishes, though! (And apparently I can't read, either. Reposted to fix an error I saw after the fact that was going to make me nuts. Sorry if you got the alert twice.)

* * *

Chapter Eight

Claire Keller looks much too young for college. She is small and bird-boned, and the way she huddles under the covers makes Cameron wonder where her parents are. She appears neither feverish nor in any obvious distress, but there's something distant about her eyes, a subtle pallor to her skin which makes her illness evident. The regulation hospital pillow case is already stained with one spot of blood, though the girl has only been admitted for a little over an hour.

Chase brushes past Cameron on his way into the room, moving as though he really is here by himself, or she is nothing more than a harmless observer. Taken aback, Cameron finds herself waiting against the wall just inside the door, crossing her arms and watching. She'd planned on taking part in this interview, but suddenly she needs to see how he will handle this without her intervention. It's hard to picture him dealing with patients now.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Chase," he says with surprising warmth, and offers his hand.

Claire sits up and takes it immediately, smiling with a certain nervous innocence which again makes her look more like a child than an adult. "I'm Claire. Are you—they talked about a specialist? Why do I need a specialist? The nurse at school said I just had an infection, and I took all the medicine she gave me."

"You probably don't need one," Chase answers reassuringly. "But you've actually got a whole team on your case. Make sure you get all taken care of."

"What's wrong with me?" Claire asks, sitting up further, and sounding more frightened than comforted by the revelation that she's being treated by more than one person.

"We don't know yet," says Chase. "That's why I need your help." He glances sideways at Cameron, then smiles conspiratorially at Claire, lowering his voice to a still-audible stage whisper. "That's my boss over there. She's supervising today, making sure I do my job the way she wants it done. Want to answer some questions for me and help me look good?"

Claire laughs. "Okay."

Chase glances over at Cameron, as though challenging her to say something, but she finds that no words come at all. This transformation is dizzying in its speed and completeness; in front of her now, he is every bit the doctor she worked with five years ago, charming and confident and utterly in control. In his interactions with this patient, Cameron sees the man she fell in love with, before everything fell apart. Swallowing, she realizes that in this moment, she can't feel entirely sure of what has ever truly been real.

"Have you been sick in the past few weeks?" Chase asks. "I mean, besides the ear infection. Cold? Flu?"

Claire shakes her head, and Chase records her answer on the chart he's holding.

"What about allergies? Anything new in your environment lately? Or problems in the past?"

"No." Claire plays with the edge of the sheet, hands shaking in obvious nervousness.

"And what about your family history? Any major medical problems?" Chase asks the most personal question casually, not looking up from what he's writing.

Claire bites her lip, not looking at him, Cameron notices. When she speaks again, her voice is barely audible. "My father—killed himself—last year. But that's—that's not relevant, is it?"

Chase looks up sharply, and Cameron can see an almost imperceptible shift in the slope of his shoulders, but his tone is all gentle compassion. "No, it's not. And I'm sorry to hear it." He's quiet for a moment before asking the final question Cameron knows is coming. "Would it be all right if we took a look at your apartment? You might not know it, but there could be something you're allergic to there."

Claire nods, seeming relieved to have something else to focus on. "My keys are on the table."

Retrieving them, Chase vanishes into the hall, leaving Cameron feeling stunned and a few steps behind him. "Wait. I'm still coming with you. Foreman can stay here and do his neurological exam."

When Chase turns around to face her again, the mask—or perhaps the truth, Cameron isn't sure anymore—is back in place, bitterness creasing his forehead and darkening his eyes. "Of course you are. Like you'd trust me to do anything on my own."

–

The trip from the hospital to the girl's apartment is tense and almost entirely silent. Cameron insists on driving, and she can tell that Chase resents her for it. It's turned into a miserable day, cold and raining, the kind of weather that makes everything feel saturated with mud.

"I'm not incompetent, you know," says Chase, when she's parked in front of the building.

"I know that," Cameron answers quickly, surprised. She looks away to fumble on the floor of her rental car for the cheap umbrella she bought a few days ago. The great majority of her things are still in Chicago, and she dreads going back to move them. She's beginning to be surrounded by new things here, things that she's bought to make the semblance of a life.

"Then stop acting like you need to babysit me. You don't." Chase steps out of the rain as though it isn't even there, slamming the door hard enough to shake the entire car.

"Prove it first," Cameron answers, struggling to open her umbrella as she rushes after him. "The department is my responsibility now. My _liability_. You can be angry with me, I don't care, but I have to know that I can trust you professionally." It isn't true, and they both know it.

"You're not making Foreman prove himself," Chase says as they walk up the stairs. He's already soaked to the bone, but he doesn't seem to notice.

Cameron finds herself unable to tear her eyes away from how gaunt he looks with his hair plastered to his face. "Foreman didn't come to a funeral drunk. He didn't pass out and end up in the hospital. Whatever is going on with you personally, I have to know that it isn't going to affect your work. Regardless of what I think, I have to protect the patient first."

"Foreman didn't hurt you," Chase amends simply, not looking at her.

Cameron freezes, staring at him and suddenly unaware of the storm beating down. It's the first time that he's shown her anything but resentment since she's been back. For one instant, with the rain blurring the space between them, she can see cracks starting to show in the wall he's built up around himself, the knowledge that he is more than just innocent victim in this still present beneath everything.

"No," Cameron answers softly. "He didn't."

Standing here, outside the apartment they are supposed to be searching like so many before, she can see herself and Chase poised on the edge of a precipice, the potential for ruin equally great on either side. And yet it seems, despite everything, that the choice is still _there, _the path toward something other than the present at least partially within reach. It's a painful realization as much as it is liberating; now that the possibility of anything beyond utter hopelessness is in sight, she feels all the more desperate to have it.

"I left Foreman too, you know," she offers when she can't bear inaction any longer and Chase is still silent. "He's my friend. You weren't the only one who got hurt." It's a mistake she recognizes instantly, the tension seeming to slam back into his body as he turns to face the numbered door behind them, all sense of vulnerability gone as completely as if it had never been there. Feeling suddenly bereft, Cameron wonders whether she's misjudged, allowing herself to see what she so badly wants to see instead of what is actually there.

"We have work to do," Chase says tersely. "Give me the keys." He doesn't even hold his hand out, snatching them from her when she offers them as though any contact might physically burn him.

"Okay," Cameron offers weakly, feeling drained.

The apartment is small, and notably clean for a college residence. No longer watching Chase, Cameron makes her way into the cramped kitchen and starts with the refrigerator. There is nothing relevant here, nor in any of the drawers to its left. Bending down to examine the oven, she can hear Chase rummaging around in the tiny living room, and is almost overwhelmed by a wave of deja vu. She misses him, she remembers for the millionth time, in the every day and the mundane as much as in the deeper parts of her life.

"Allison," Chase calls, and she jumps, the sound of her first name on his lips seeming to echo in the too-small space of the apartment.

"What?" Cameron straightens up, deciding there isn't anything of interest in the kitchen.

"Come here." Chase's upper body is visible above the high counter top, and he looks excited.

Going into the living room, Cameron finally sees what he's looking at. In the corner of the apartment, a blanket is half covering an animal carrier. Chase is kneeling now to look inside, and Cameron stoops beside him to get a better view. Curled up on a pile of rags, a tiny black puppy is sleeping.

"She didn't say anything about that," Cameron says quietly, suddenly concerned about waking the dog.

"Complex doesn't allow pets," Chase answers, voice equally hushed.

Cameron raises her eyebrows. "Want to bet her ear pain is allergy related?"

Chase pulls out his cell phone and flips it open to dial Foreman's number. "I'll take that bet." He grins.

* * *

Feedback is greatly appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: I apologize for this chapter falling so close to current canon events, but I hope you'll enjoy it all the same. I really appreciate all of your feedback and positivity on this story so far, and I hope that you'll stick with me over the coming months regardless of what happens on the show. All I can promise is that I'm trying in every way I know how to give us closure with this story in the event that it doesn't happen in canon. (Although I really think it will.)

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Chapter Nine

Cameron leads the way back into the diagnostics office when they return from searching Claire's apartment, a welcome change from feeling left behind in everything the past couple of weeks. Chase has a grocery bag full of all the medications that were in the bathroom drawers and cabinet, just in case anything turns out to be relevant. Besides the puppy, nothing else had seemed particularly notable in terms of Claire's ear problems, but Chase had insisted on taking the time to feed the dog before returning to the hospital. Foreman has his back to them now, writing on the whiteboard and pausing every few moments to erase what he's just scribbled down.

"Girl's hiding a puppy in her apartment." says Chase, setting the bag on the table with a clatter of pills being jostled. "What's wrong with you?"

"Patient developed severe left orbital pain and double vision," says Foreman, not turning around. "And she can't close her eye. She was in too much pain for me to do a full exam after the fact, but I think we're looking at sixth facial nerve palsy."

He sounds frustrated, Cameron thinks, and she wonders whether she's made a mistake in leaving so early in the case. She has to admit that if Chase always acts this way at work, he doesn't need supervision. And yet, Cuddy's warning is still fresh in her mind , and she can't help wondering whether he's only performed so well because she's been watching. It isn't a fair suspicion, but she can't afford to be wrong.

"Brain tumor?" asks Cameron, moving to stand over his shoulder so that she can see what he's been writing.

"I don't know," Foreman growls, looking like he's about ready to throw the marker at the board. He didn't used to get upset this easily over cases, Cameron thinks. "She started screaming in pain in the middle of the CT. Couldn't stay still. I had to get her out of there and shoot her up with an IV full of morphine. She's maxed out now and still in pain."

Cameron winces sympathetically. Claire isn't a patient she would have expected to go from a minor infection to severe intractable pain in a matter of hours, but she spent enough time working with House to know better than to trust that assumption.

"What about an intracranial abscess?" asks Chase, coming to stand by the whiteboard as well, evidently too engrossed in the case to stick to his habit of keeping as much distance from her as possible. "Brain tumor wouldn't likely get this much worse this fast."

Cameron nods. "Increasing intracranial pressure?"

Foreman frowns, tapping the back of the marker against the edge of the board, staring at it like he might be able to read something else in the list of words if he looks long enough. "Not likely. To cause localized pain and paralysis like that, an abscess would have to be in exactly the right location."

"Okay," Chase says dryly. "What about an abscess_ in exactly the right location_?"

"What about the rest of the neurological exam?" asks Cameron, hoping to stop this argument before it can start.

Foreman sighs. "Sixth and seventh facial nerve palsies we already discussed. Nothing relevant besides that. She's awake and alert. Seems like a nice girl. Lab tests all came back normal too. Nothing."

"We need to get an MRI," Cameron decides. "That'll tell us if it's a tumor or an abscess. Or neither. And make sure to get the temporal bones as well. If it's not in her brain, it really still could be her ear."

"We should do a lumbar puncture too," says Chase, and Cameron jumps a little, having forgotten he's standing so close. "Rule out meningitis. It's unlikely with no fever, but we can't risk assuming."

Foreman nods. "And let me guess. You want me to do all the testing."

"You are the neurologist," says Cameron.

"I'll do the LP," says Chase. "You do the MRI." He turns to Cameron before heading out the door, smirking in a way that she can't quite read. "You—do administrative bullshit, Boss."

–

The locker is almost entirely empty. Cameron has a box of the things she cleared out of her old locker, sitting in the closet of her childhood bedroom back in Chicago, a reckless jumble she's never bothered to look back on. Still, this seems like a good opportunity to steal a little quiet while Chase and Foreman are running their tests. It takes her four tries to turn the new combination, her fingers feeling unaccustomed and clumsy.

Inside the locker is a thin layer of dust, and Cameron trails a fingertip idly through it, tracing meaningless patterns on the shelf. Someone has left a tiny mirror on the inside of the door, and she wonders for a moment whether there was anything in her old locker for its new occupant to find. She realizes suddenly that she doesn't remember which one it was, and that thought is oddly distressing.

She's brought the bottle of cleaner that was left over from their day going through House's inner office, and she steps back now, spraying the inside of the locker thoroughly. The scent of artificial lemon is almost overwhelming as Cameron leans forward again, swiping all of the dust out with a wad of paper towels. It takes scarcely more than a few seconds, and yet it's immensely satisfying.

Tossing the paper towels into the nearby trash can, Cameron stills for a moment, surveying the empty inside again. It feels as though she ought to have something to put inside it now, to claim it as her own in more than just knowing its code. But all of her things are still at home; this space seems almost redundant when she's not truly settled anywhere in Princeton. It's time to find an apartment now, she knows. Turning to leave, she slips her hand into her pocket and then freezes again when her fingers brush the edge of her unused plane ticket for the return trip to Chicago.

It _has_ to be more than a coincidence, she thinks, finding it now, at this particular moment. Pulling it out, she reads it slowly, then sets it on the floor of the locker and stands letting its weight shift off of her. Taking a breath, finally, Cameron takes hold of the door and starts to close it, whirling around with a shock when Chase's reflection suddenly appears in the mirror.

"What the hell?"

Chase looks unamused at her reaction. "LP was negative. Foreman's doing the MRI now."

"And you needed the stealth approach to tell me that because...?" Cameron frowns.

Chase just shrugs, and Cameron finds herself suddenly filled with a wave of frustration. She's managed to keep herself from thinking of it again until now, but beneath it all she knows that they were _close_ to something in that moment at Claire's apartment. And yet it slipped away again, and the void left behind is somehow the most painful thing she's experienced since being back.

"Don't try to pretend that what you did to Foreman was anything resembling what you did to me," Chase says at last, acidly, as if he's just read her mind.

Cameron bites her lip and presses her back to the wall of lockers, not knowing how to respond.

"I _needed_ you," he continues, with a soft intensity that turns her blood to ice.

"I know," Cameron whispers, swallowing. This is an attack, she knows, in the most personal way, but it's also a chance she was all but certain would never come again. "But—you wouldn't let me help you. What choice did I have?"

"You always had a choice!" Chase snaps, pushing himself away from the wall.

"After what you said?" Cameron crosses her arms, aware of her voice getting louder but feeling a strange sense of disembodiment, as though she's drowning in the sudden remembered anger and grief. "What was I supposed to do?"

"You weren't supposed to leave!" Chase shouts, finally exploding, and Cameron flinches, hoping no one is around to hear. He takes a breath, visibly trying to get control of himself. "I never _expected_ you to leave."

"You forced me out of your life," she insists weakly, but his last admission seems to have shaken the ground beneath her feet. She has never actually considered that giving in to his spiteful demands might have been the real mistake, that his crime hasn't changed him too entirely for her to love. Three years ago there had been nothing visible beyond the hurt, the confusion, the sudden betrayal. "I thought you made it pretty clear that you needed to deal with your demons alone."

"I needed my wife to help me," Chase says, with the same quiet bitterness as before. He is shaking, badly.

Cameron flinches again, feeling as though she's taken a punch to the gut, and breath won't seem to come. She leans more heavily on the lockers and clenches her jaw. "Then why didn't you tell me that? I practically _begged_ you to let me help."

"Right," Chase spits, retreating entirely behind the facade of anger and hate again. "I _deserved_ to burn in hell. Believe me, I _know_."

Cameron opens her mouth to attempt a response, but is interrupted by the door swinging open. She catches her breath in momentary panic before recognizing Foreman. He stops short, glancing back and forth between them several times as if choosing a response.

"Gradenigo syndrome," he says matter-of-factly, as though he hasn't just stumbled into the middle of a warzone. When no one else speaks, he continues. "MRI confirmed it. Explains the pain, bleeding, discharge. Even the facial paralysis. Probably triggered by an allergic reaction to that dog. Made her vulnerable to the bacteria. Infection ate away at the bones of her inner ear and caused the neurological symptoms."

Cameron swallows and draws in a shaky breath, trying to force herself to focus for the sake of the patient. "Good. Start her on broad spectrum antibiotics and steroids. She should be fine in a few weeks."

Foreman nods.

"Fantastic," Chase says sourly, though the previous moment's rage seems to have been buried again for the moment. "I'm going home."

It's the middle of the day still, but Cameron finds herself completely unable to protest. Everything feels shifted, somehow, and she finds herself impossibly disoriented in the familiar world of her own emotions.

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Please review!


	10. Chapter 10

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

_**NOTES: A few things.**_

_**1. Just to clarify—This fic was always intended to fit into the context of Cameron leaving in Teamwork. The AU part of my timeline begins after that, with their separation progressing into divorce. You'll get more of my backstory in the next few chapters, but in terms of Cameron's reasons for leaving in the first place, I have been and am going with what happened in canon.**_

_**2. This fic's rating is going to change to M in a couple of chapters. I don't want you to think it disappeared if you haven't adjusted your settings, so keep an eye out for that.**_

_**3. Thank you so much for all of the wonderful feedback and support. I know things in canon are really painful right now, and this fic is going to get pretty dark pretty fast in the next few chapters. I promise that's working toward a payoff that you'll love in the next few weeks. Just please trust me, okay? I am really trying to give us all what we need right now. I hope you enjoy this very long chapter.**_

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Chapter Ten

A month passes at an impasse, cases coming and going to a background of tension and dread. Chase barely speaks to Cameron beyond the medicine, withdrawing from everything entirely. He doesn't even show enough interest to trade verbal barbs anymore, and the feeling that she is simply invisible seems confirmation of the impending nightmare she fled three years ago.

It's easier to be angry at Chase, at House's ghost. To consider them the ones who have ruined her marriage and subsequently her life. Everything is simple as long as Chase is nasty, cold, as long as she can hold onto the conviction that he's changed into a man too different for her to have loved. And yet, being around him now, even in his absolute aloofness, she can't stop remembering the locker room, the glimpse of the man he used to be.

And yet, the _knowing_ itself is not enough; every day he seems to slip further away from her.

Her newborn hints of hope feel so fragile and deadly that she doesn't dare let herself nurture them into anything more. It's obvious that Chase is miserable, at least as hurt as she is by the destruction of their marriage. But she still can't see beyond the armor, beyond the wall, past all the secrets and lies and betrayals between them to tell whether there is enough of him left to save. He's fallen farther than she could have imagined, either because she was right or because she was entirely mistaken.

Allowing herself to think that the man she fell in love with six years ago might possibly still be alive beneath all the scars is a devastating prospect. Too dangerous to even consider, especially now, when everything he does seems colored by such a complete detachment. The fleeting vulnerability must have been nothing more than a flicker in her always-hopeful imagination, Cameron decides. The ashes of her savior complex trying to ignite again. Nothing more.

"Where do you want these?" Foreman asks from the doorway, bringing her reeling back to the present. He has a stack of three boxes in his arms, and Cameron can barely see his face above them.

The tiny apartment she's found is barely two blocks from the hospital, and feels at once barren and confining, more like a prison than a new home. It seems as though she's condemning herself by making the move permanent, especially when things are still so uncertain with Chase. Yet she knows already that running away now is not an option. Even if she can never truly love him again, she finds herself committed to him in a way she can't quite define.

"In the bedroom," she says absently, then pauses in her arranging of dishes in the cabinet to watch him vanish and reappear.

"What did your parents say?" Foreman asks when he comes back.

Cameron grimaces, having hoped he wouldn't ask that question. "Not much. They're not really speaking to me at all, actually."

Foreman sighs, looking like he can't blame them. Cameron thinks she would be offended if she didn't agree as well. "You did kind of spring this on them."

"I know," Cameron says, frustrated. "But what was I supposed to do? I know they don't understand. They can't. They think—"

"What?" asks Foreman, more gently.

"They think that I like to be in crisis," she answers, not looking at him. It occurs to her that Foreman probably agrees with them; his perspective of the situation is entirely different, yet he has every reason to believe the same as her family. "They think I put myself in these situations just to get attention."

"Why would they think that?" asks Foreman, but it sounds like the obligatory response.

Cameron looks away again, and goes back to stacking plates on a shelf, feeling unable to face these questions directly. "I married a man who was dying. I left Chase. I'm thirty-six and all I have to show for it is my career."

"Did you tell them the truth about what happened with Chase?" Foreman asks pointedly. She isn't sure whether it's an accusation.

"Of course not!" Cameron snaps, then feels bad when she realizes by the hurt look on his face that it was an honest question. She takes a breath. "What was I supposed to say? 'My husband turned into a sociopath and murdered a patient in cold blood?' They'd think I'd really gone crazy."

Foreman sighs. "Chase isn't a sociopath."

"Right," Cameron snaps, with a bitterness she almost doesn't recognize in herself. "He just thinks he's God."

"I think you're wrong," Foreman insists.

"And I think you should stay the hell out of my personal life." She regrets it the instant she's said it, and is surprised to find the sudden tightness of emotion in her throat. "I'm sorry. But you didn't—you _don't_ know—what happened to him. How he—changed. If you don't want me to make assumptions about the things I haven't seen, then you have to follow your own rule."

Foreman nods finally, seeming to accept this. "Do you want children?" he asks, backtracking into marginally safer territory. He picks up a mixing bowl and hands it to her.

"My parents want them for me," Cameron answers evasively, on the defensive now. Personal failures have seemed too devastating for her to speak aloud in recent years. She sets the bowl on the top shelf with a hollow _thunk_.

"What about _you_?" asks Foreman, setting the box marked _silverware_ on the counter, and slitting the tape across the top.

Cameron sighs, pausing to lean against the wall and watch him turn a handful of forks the proper way to fit into the drawer. She's never been able to picture Foreman outside of the workplace, with a home life of his own, yet he seems at ease here, unpacking her kitchen.

"I did once," she admits quietly.

Foreman pauses, looking up. "But now?"

Cameron shrugs, hoping he'll stop asking. "It's not going to happen. It doesn't matter how I feel."

"I thought that was why you kept your first husband's sperm," Foreman probes, though he doesn't even sound like he believes himself. She can tell he's only saying it in the hopes of finding out more. "In case you didn't find anyone else?"

Cameron exhales a sharp breath, surprising herself with the intensity of her own reaction. "Turns out, finding someone tends to make you realize it's not worth doing alone."

"Remy wanted kids," says Foreman awkwardly after a moment, and Cameron finds herself guiltily grateful for the change of subject.

"Did you ever seriously consider it?" she asks, moving into the living room and opening up a box of books. There's a shelf built into one of the walls, but she can already tell that it's going to be too small. All of the furniture from her first apartment in Princeton she'd left in the condo, the least of her concerns.

Foreman grabs his own armful of books, and Cameron wonders whether he's the one stalling now. "Not for very long. She mentioned it a few times, when I was running the trial and the results were looking promising. But—" He shakes his head, lining books up automatically in alphabetical order. "It's for the best, I think."

Cameron nods slowly, saddened for him and wondering how many tragedies have passed in his life unshared. She waits until he turns back to the box to gather more books, then re-orders the ones he's already set up, by her preference for them instead of title. Foreman doesn't seem to notice, and continues alphabetizing further down the shelf.

"Tell me about your wedding," Cameron hears herself saying, almost before she's processed the thought. She bites her lip and stands back, watching Foreman arrange still more books. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I just—I couldn't." It's the first time she's admitted to having been anything more than busy at work.

Foreman looks surprised, and also vaguely upset. Cameron wonders whether he feels even more betrayed by her absence than she'd previously thought. He doesn't answer immediately, and having finished as many books as will fit for the moment, Cameron moves to another box, arranging DVDs on the shelf beneath the television. These she has acquired almost exclusively in the past two years; when she'd lived in the condo, nearly the entire movie collection had been Chase's.

"That's probably for the best too," says Foreman, breaking the silence again.

It takes Cameron a moment to realize that he is still talking about the wedding. "Why? The pictures you sent me were beautiful."

Foreman makes a face. "The ceremony was."

Cameron raises her eyebrows. "But? Did something happen?"

Foreman snorts. "Understatement."

Cameron frowns, watching him stoop to examine her DVD collection. "Are you going to tell me what that means, or shouldn't I ask?"

He shakes his head, scooping up _Star Wars _and reading the case as though he can tell that her owning this movie is almost entirely Chase's influence. "You know from the pictures that Chase was my best man," he says, and doesn't elaborate.

A weight settles in the pit of Cameron's stomach as she begins to get an idea of where this is going. She'd tried not to see Chase in the pictures, and had even gotten the impression that Foreman and Thirteen had tried to send her mostly ones which in which he was absent. "What did he do?"

"Got drunk at the reception. I mean, not just your usual good time. _Really_ wasted. Started ranting about how marriage is an institution of pain, and got in a fist fight with one of Remy's friends. Ended up throwing a chair across the room before House and Wilson dragged him off." Foreman puts _Star Wars _back in its place and straightens. "Found out later that they made him spend the night puking on their couch. They were afraid he'd go wrap his car around a tree. Or worse."

For a moment, Cameron can only stare at him, feeling choked by guilt and history. In the back of her mind, she's comforted herself with the thought that Chase is a survivor, that he has always been all right no matter what and will continue to be, even as nothing more than a shadow of his former self.

"I have to go," says Foreman, and Cameron suddenly realizes that it's dark out, the whole day having slipped away into freshly-painted rooms and the depth of memory.

"I'll walk you out," she offers, still reeling from his admission about the wedding.

Foreman goes ahead of her on the way out, stopping so abruptly that Cameron nearly runs into him, too lost in her thoughts to notice the change in his movements. "Uh, Allison?"

"What?" Cameron follows him out onto the apartment's tiny front porch before realizing what he's looking at.

"I think that's for you." He points.

On the doorstep, tucked into the corner where the door won't knock it over, is the white azalea bonsai plant she and Chase received as a wedding gift three years ago. It's barely recognizable from what she realizes must be years of neglect, no flowers blooming and half the leaves yellowed or fallen off entirely. The pot has large chip out of one side. And yet, the plant is still alive, still holding on all these months later.

"There's something with it," Foreman says quietly, pointing to a piece of paper taped to the front of the pot.

Bending, Cameron retrieves and unfolds it, catching her breath. On the paper is one word, hastily scrawled but unquestionably Chase's handwriting nonetheless.

_Sorry_.

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I'll love you all forever if you get me to 100 reviews this chapter. ^_~


	11. Chapter 11

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: Thank you so much for all of the awesome feedback. It really means a lot to me when canon is less than inspirational, so just know that I appreciate it. Also, if you haven't already seen, I've done my annual profile updates with some helpful information and links. Check it out if you're interested.

_**PLEASE NOTE, NEXT CHAPTER THE RATING OF THIS FIC WILL BE CHANGED TO M. **_

_**

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**_

Chapter Eleven

Cameron is late the next morning after being detained by her new landlady, who seems intent on learning her entire life history through smalltalk. She's nice enough, the type of grandmotherly woman who probably has no one else to talk to. Yet Cameron feels unnerved by her apparent concern, not wanting to think anyone in the outside world can see the current tumult in her life. Worse, the landlady seems convinced that she must be a nurse, no matter how many times Cameron repeats that she is a _doctor_, and a department head at that.

She'd stopped unpacking the previous night to take the azalea inside, watering and pruning it before banishing it to the tiny laundry room, where she won't have to see it for at least another week. And yet it haunts her, front and center this morning among so many other things.

Foreman is alone in the office, though it's nearly half an hour later than she's accustomed to getting here. He has a stack of medical journals on the table, mostly House's subscriptions which no one has thought to cancel. Several are open to various articles, though Cameron can't tell from a distance whether Foreman is actually reading any of them. At least two are in foreign languages, and she can't help the thought that there must be a story behind why House wanted them in the first place.

"Where's Chase?" she asks by way of greeting. For a moment she's filled with panic, remembering the azalea again. She's thought of a dozen ways to read his note, endless iterations for the interpretation of a single word. Suddenly it seems like a final rejection of her, as she sees in her mind the possibility that he's abandoned this last reminder of their marriage before leaving town entirely. She isn't sure why that thought is so devastating; she sees no viable future for them even as friends, yet the prospect that he might already be gone is terrifying. She's never been ready to give up on him entirely, she realizes, though she's certain she can't expect the same from him now.

"The cafeteria," says Foreman, frowning as though he can read in her face the catastrophic trail down which her thoughts have fled. "He's hungover. I mean, he's _always_ hungover, but today's worse than usual. Said he was getting coffee. I guess he's drinking it there too. Probably didn't want me questioning him."

"Okay." Cameron takes a breath, momentarily too relieved even to be angry at him for coming to work noticeably hungover. Being around Chase sets her emotions all off-balance, so that she finds herself in constant question of instincts she can usually trust.

Cameron is halfway out the door before she realizes that she hasn't said anything further to Foreman, and now he is staring at her in question. "I should go talk to him," she manages. "Disciplinary—thing." She doesn't even believe herself.

Chase is seated in a booth on the far side of the cafeteria. She sees him the moment she walks in, though his back is to her. It's the middle of the morning, a time when everyone is sequestered away in meetings or procedures, and the cafeteria is nearly empty. Still, her eye is drawn to him immediately, to the way his head is bowed forward and his shoulders are even more hunched than usual. Cameron serves herself a cup of coffee and makes her way through the line, preoccupied with wondering whether he's in pain.

Chase doesn't look up when Cameron slides into the booth across from him, just pushes the bowl of creamer across the table toward her. It's still more acknowledgment than he's given her the past three weeks. Her fingers shake when she tears the paper seal off the creamer, and some of it squirts out the side to leave little spots of white on the table. The tension between them feels too thick to reach through and grab a napkin.

"Sorry for what?" she asks at last, not looking up as she stirs her coffee into a light brown.

"Don't know what you mean," Chase answers flatly. He lifts his cup, but doesn't drink from it. It's still mostly full, Cameron notices, and wonders more.

"Your note," she presses, looking up at him finally. There's resentment in his gaze again, and it's almost a relief after the icy nothing of the past few weeks. She's never thought to miss his anger, but now she realizes that she has been. "It said you're sorry. What are you sorry for?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Chase counters again, though now he's moved beyond detachment and into an obvious lie. He seems too sick and drained to muster true anger at the moment.

"Robert." Cameron leans forward, lowering her voice so that the few people around won't hear. "Don't play games. You obviously wanted to say something to me, and you said it. Now tell me what you meant."

He shakes his head, wincing almost imperceptibly. "You don't always have to dissect everything. Don't ask questions you don't want answers to."

"Why did you give it to me?" she asks, ignoring him and shredding the corner of a napkin into tiny strips. "The plant. It was—I keep thinking you did it because you wanted to be completely done with me. But—then why did you keep it this long? Why didn't you let it die three years ago?"

Chase shrugs disinterestedly, and Cameron feels even more disoriented than before. He's like a brick wall in front of her this morning, all strangeness where she's so used to finding familiarity.

"Maybe I was stupid enough to not give up on you the minute you left," he answers at last. She can't tell whether he means it or not.

"And now?" asks Cameron, feeling breathless.

Chase picks up his coffee and takes a long drink, not answering.

"What changed?" she continues, when she's certain he's not going to say anything. The nervous energy that's been prickling along the back of her neck since finding the azalea has bloomed into full-blown anxiety in the pit of her stomach, making her skin crawl and her breath feel too little.

It occurs to her that she's made her move here permanent now, and possibly that is what has finally snapped him out of his cold indifference towards her. It's not quite the same anger that she senses from him now, and it's certainly not anything resembling trust or acceptance, and yet it feels like it still might be progress.

Chase looks affronted by the question, and she wonders helplessly what mistake she's made this time. Or if there's anything she can do at this point that _isn't_ a mistake.

"Had a moment of drunken stupidity," says Chase, jaw set. "Thought it might be fun to give you a little false hope. You're so good at that, after all."

Cameron flinches. "Why are you so angry at me?" she shoots back, anxiety transforming instantly to frustration, and suddenly there seems no reason not to say all the things she's been thinking since being back. Nothing left to lose.

Chase snorts, face contorting into a sneer like she's said the most contemptuous thing imaginable. "You really want an answer to that? If you don't actually know—"

"Yeah, I left you," Cameron cuts him off, tone mirroring his now. She's spent the whole time since being back trying to silently plead for his forgiveness, to regain his trust in any way possible, but all it's gotten her so far is hurt. "I left you _after_ you betrayed my trust in as many ways as you could. You put me through _months_ of worry and hurt, and all I got was indifference in return. I gave you every chance. _You_ decided you'd rather be House's lackey than my husband. So please. Tell me what it is I've done to deserve this kind of hatred from you now. If anything, _you_ should be apologizing a thousand times more than that pathetic little note."

Chase leans forward with his palms against the table, and for a moment a thrill of fear washes over Cameron, the sense that she's finally crossed the line and can no longer trust how he'll respond even in anger. She's seen him attempt violence toward Foreman, and yet that possibility is less frightening to her than half of the things he could say.

"All I ever wanted was to spend my life with you," Chase answers quietly, surprising her. "All my life, I wanted to have a family. A partner. But—I never thought that would be possible—for me. And then you—You had actually convinced me." There is no anger in his voice now, only a fathomless sadness, and his eyes tell Cameron he knows that is the most devastating thing of all. He takes a breath, face hardening again. "You took all of that away when you left. _Stole_ it. And I—had nothing, because I trusted you with too much. I'm not gonna make that mistake again."

"I'm sorry," Cameron whispers, feeling entirely small and insignificant in the sprawling shadow of her past mistakes and distrust. Even if he has changed too much to ever share those things with her, the knowledge that she has inflicted him with the pain of their loss sickens her. For a moment she thinks it would have been better had she never given their relationship a chance at all.

But Chase only shakes his head, face a mask of bitterness once more, the admission clearly having cost him. "_Nothing_ you say or do is ever going to make up for that."

His pager goes off, and Cameron nearly jumps out of her skin. She realizes that she's left hers on the counter at home, then wishes Chase didn't have his either. The only time they have to talk now is at work, inevitably ended prematurely by some intrusion.

Chase pulls his pager off his belt and slides it across the table at her like their conversation never happened. He seems so entirely unaffected now, barely a second later, that it's hard for her to even consider that this wasn't another mind-game, that she was ever wrong about him. "We've got a case."

Cameron nods, trying to pull herself together. "Go ahead. Tell Foreman I'll be there in a minute."

He takes his pager back and stands. "Okay, Boss."

It's a definite jab, his tone somewhere between contemptuous amusement and actual malice. Cameron can't decide whether she wants to slap him for it, or cry with relief. Everything is simple, so long as they both stay angry.

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Please review!


	12. Chapter 12

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: This chapter features a heavy dose of medical ick. I figure if you watch the show, you're probably used to that, but consider yourselves warned. Also, Happy Thanksgiving to everyone celebrating tomorrow!

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Chapter Twelve

Cameron stays in the cafeteria for nearly twenty minutes after Chase leaves, staring at the surface of her coffee and trying to convince herself to finish it. She can't seem to make her hands stop shaking, splashing liquid over the side of the cup when she finally picks it up, and the first sip turns her stomach. Giving up, she tosses it into the trash still full, and tries not to make eye contact with anyone on the way to the elevator.

By the time she makes it back up to the diagnostics office, she has to be able to at least appear in control. Chase won't buy it, she knows—he's managed yet again to shake the foundation of the rationalizations she's built her life on the for the past three years, and he has to be aware. Still, for the good of the patient, and for Foreman's sake, she has to keep up the illusion. For herself as well, she realizes, as she steps onto the elevator and thinks again how trapped she's left herself in this place, in this job, in her new apartment with its boxes full of history everywhere. Coming back here, she'd been looking for some validation that her decision three years ago was the only way to save herself. Instead she's found the revelations of one mistake after another, and more left to lose than she'd thought was possible.

Foreman is pacing when she re-enters the office, a chart from the ER in one hand and a marker in the other. _Intractable vomiting _is written on the board, but nothing else yet. Chase has his head down on the table, and Cameron can't decide whether she's more angry or concerned. This is unlike him, even for the person he's turned into. She remembers him passing out at the funeral, and hopes that he is not on the verge of a similar collapse now.

"Case from the ER?" Cameron asks, when Foreman doesn't volunteer it.

"Waste of our time," says Chase, voice muffled into his arms.

"Intractable vomiting and coughing blood," says Foreman, ignoring Chase. "And by 'intractable' I mean the patient is unable to stop gagging long enough to catch his breath."

Cameron winces in sympathy. "History?"

"Probably swallowed something," Chase interrupts, still not sitting up. "Tell them to get an ENT consult and leave us alone."

"ENT is busy," says Foreman. "We're not. If we can help this man right now, why wouldn't we?"

"This isn't a medical mystery!" Chase pushes himself up finally, sitting back in the chair and crossing his arms.

"It doesn't matter," Cameron decides forcefully, rounding on Chase. Suddenly she doesn't care whether he's sick, whether he's hurt, whether his note was any kind of gesture toward progress. His selfishness and apathy in this moment are nothing short of disgusting to her, proof of how completely he _has_ been destroyed. "We can help this patient right now. _That_ is our job. You can do it or you can get out of my office."

For a second she thinks he's going to take her threat and walk out. But then the next breath passes, and he remains seated.

"Well, Boss?" Chase asks belligerently.

"Can I give you the history, or does this man have to keep sitting there vomiting while we bite each other's heads off?" Foreman sounds as frustrated as Cameron feels.

"Please." Cameron takes the marker from him and moves to stand in front of the whiteboard. Even a month later, she feels out of place using it, but giving up now is too large a defeat to admit.

"Sam Donahue," reads Foreman, sounding as though he's half-memorized the file in the time it's taken them to begin the presentation of the case. "Forty-two-year-old white male. Collapsed while working at a construction site, disoriented and vomiting. The ER treated with fluids and antiemetics for heat stroke, with no effect. Two hours after admission, patient began to expel blood. So far they've been unsuccessful in scoping the patient's throat due to uncontrollable gagging and inflammation."

"Sucks for him," says Chase, leaning back so that the chair rests on two legs, and lacing his hands behind his head.

"It happened at a construction site?" asks Cameron, writing. She still has no idea what has snapped in Chase, what led him to bring the azalea to her new apartment, or be so sick and agitated today. For the moment, she makes the decision to ignore him. "Do we know what kind of construction? He could have been exposed to any number of toxins. Inhaled something, maybe."

"That's specific," Chase interjects. "Thank God you came back. Department's been like the Dark Ages without you."

"And your bright idea is...?" Foreman puts the file down on the table with a slap, pushing it toward Chase. He doesn't catch it, letting the folder slide right by him and onto the floor, pages flying everywhere.

Cameron sighs, trying to stay calm. If she's honest with herself, she's afraid to have a full blown fight with him right now after just having witnessed exactly how deeply and precisely he knows how to strike at her. "That was mature."

"I agree with you," says Foreman, turning back to Cameron. He doesn't react to Chase at all, and she wonders how much this kind of impudence has become the norm of the department. "Considering where the incident occurred, he most likely inhaled or ingested something toxic. Or even got injured. He was disoriented, right? What if he had a head or abdominal injury that no one observed? If he didn't tell the ER, they'd have been too distracted by the vomiting to notice something less obvious, most likely."

Cameron nods, bending beside Chase's chair to gather up the scattered file as she speaks. She makes a point not to look at him. "Could also be a preexisting condition exacerbated by the heat and the strenuous working conditions. Perforated ulcer would explain the blood. We need to find a way to scope him."

"That's the problem," says Foreman, frowning. "Can't scope if the gag reflex is constantly being triggered. Can't suppress the gag reflex if we don't know what's going on, or we could end up killing him. So we need to scope him to find out what's making him vomit, but we have to get him to stop vomiting before we can scope him."

"Hmmm, this sounds like....I don't know, a job for an ENT specialist?" Chase leans just a little further and loses his balance, nearly falling out of the chair before catching himself.

"What is your problem?" Cameron finally snaps, having had it with him for the day. "Play mind games. Be angry at me. I don't care, but do it on your own time. You're endangering a patient right now."

"And that surprises you?" asks Chase, getting unsteadily to his feet. "Why should I care? I'm a cold-blooded sociopath."

Cameron freezes, feeling winded by the realization that he must have been standing on her doorstep with the azalea in time to hear that conversation with Foreman. She doesn't think her beliefs about Chase are wrong, yet feels both violated and horrified that he's heard her speak them aloud, as though that makes the ugly truth all the more real. She wonders suddenly what might have happened had Foreman not been there, had Chase not been witness to that particular conversation. The possibility that he might have knocked, might have intended to see her rather than leaving the note, churns her stomach with the cocktail of guilt and regret that's becoming her constant companion.

"Could the two of you _please_ leave your dirty laundry at home?" asks Foreman, sounding entirely disgusted.

She's already decided to send Chase home, though she's not sure whether it's for his punishment or her own sanity. Cameron takes a breath, trying to find her voice, but the phone on the desk rings before she can, one more interruption in this unending fiasco.

Foreman dives to answer it, hanging up without so much as thanking whoever's on the other end of the line. "Patient's bleeding out." He doesn't volunteer any more information, simply makes his way straight to the door as quickly as possible. Cameron follows, barely aware of Chase behind her for the duration of the rush down to the ER.

Donahue is a middle-aged man, with stringy brown hair and a pallor to his face that makes him look already several days dead. He's covered in vomit and so much blood that he looks as though he could be a trauma patient. He is still coughing and gagging, entire face and neck covered in arterial red. The curtains around his bed in the ER are open, a throng of frantic staff falling back as they arrive. Cameron glances at the monitors; it only takes a second to see that his pressure is falling fast, and that he's headed for respiratory failure as he chokes on his own blood.

"We're going to have to intubate," Cameron yells over the din of the ER in crisis.

"Same risk as the endoscope!" Foreman shouts back. "We'll be shooting blind."

"We don't have a choice! If we do nothing, he'll be dead in a minute or two!" Cameron turns to Chase, grabbing the tray of supplies from the cart next to the bed. "You're the intensivist. Intubate him."

Chase doesn't protest, apparently still knowing his place in an emergency, but it takes him nearly three tries to get his gloves on. His hands are shaking, Cameron notices, as he takes the laryngoscope from the tray and moves up to the side of the bed. There's a stiffness to his movements, and his eyes look as though he's just stepped in front of a firing squad. He raises his hand into position just as there's a sick guttural gurgle from Donahue's throat, and then a projectile gush of blood and bile. It splatters over Chase's face and shoulders, but he barely reacts, standing frozen as the laryngoscope slips from his hand and falls to the floor with a clatter. Somewhere in the back of Cameron's mind is the knowledge that this is _her_ emergency, _her_ patient to save, and her place to step in now. Yet all she can do is stare at the abject ruin of the man she once trusted with her own life and future.

Donahue's cardiac alarm goes off, and then Foreman is there, pushing Cameron forcefully to the side as he brings the crash cart up to the bed. The clamor around her feels muffled as she watches, entire world muted and unfocused as Foreman charges the paddles once, twice, three times. Cameron loses count. Blood continues pouring from Donahue's ashen lips, until his face has gone slack and his body limp, but for the repeated, rhythmic shock of the paddles. Then, finally, Foreman goes still as well.

Cameron can't read the emotion in his face as he turns toward her again. "Time of death, twelve fifty-two p.m."

She nods once, curtly. Looking around the still-busy ER, she realizes Chase has vanished.

* * *

Reviews are my inspiration when canon fails me. ^_~


	13. Chapter 13

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

It's nearly dark when Cameron finally manages to get away from the hospital. The case was barely theirs for more than an hour; she never even met Sam Donahue when he was conscious. And yet, she's spent the better part of the day filling out paperwork and comforting the family, who are understandably shocked by the sudden tragedy. So far they aren't suing, and Cuddy has been tied up in meetings all day, that ordeal still to come. But the only thing on her mind now is Chase, who's been conspicuously absent since the botched intubation.

Inwardly, Cameron is still reeling from the shock of seeing him freeze so completely. Through everything, she has never entirely distrusted his medical abilities. Today he's failed utterly, and she's not sure whether to be angry or afraid for him. She thinks again of the tox screen she'd seen on his stolen chart, the unreasonably high levels of amphetamines in his blood. No one's mentioned it since the incident, but it's never been absent from her thoughts for long. She's certain he's been using at least amphetamines during work hours, and now she wonders whether her failure to address the situation has cost Donahue his life.

The fading evening light seems surreal as Cameron parks and makes her way up the once-familiar stairs toward the condo. A part of her can't believe Chase is still living here; she knows doubtlessly if he were the one to have left, she would have had to find a new place immediately. And yet it's fitting in a sense, as well: this is exactly the kind of masochist he's always been.

Cameron stops in front of the door, feeling strange. She's never been in this position without a key. Steeling herself, she knocks once, and then again when there is no answer. There's no guarantee that Chase is here, she knows, but she's fairly certain she spotted his car in the lot, and her gut tells her that she's in the right place besides. Knocking one more time, she gives up and reaches into the flower pot beside the door for the spare key Chase always insisted on leaving there, despite her protests. The plants have long since died, not even withered roots left behind, but the key is still there, buried just beneath the surface of the soil. Not giving herself any time for second guessing, Cameron turns it in the lock and closes the door quietly behind her. Giving her eyes a second to adjust, she finds the table in the entryway and deposits the key on it.

The inside of the condo is like a nightmare vision. It smells vaguely of stale alcohol and something burned on the stove, and she can tell even from the doorway that everything has fallen into disrepair. The plants in the hallway are dead as well, fallen tangles of brown leaves and stems leaning on the edges of the pots like skeletons. On the wall is one of the paintings from her original apartment in Princeton, hanging crooked now. Looking at it sends a peculiar feeling of unease through her, like reading her tombstone.

Chase is sitting slumped on the couch, so quiet and unresponsive that for a moment Cameron thinks he might be unconscious. But his eyes are open, and he turns his head slowly, regarding her for a long time before speaking. She has an eerie sense of deja vu; she remembers him sitting on this same couch the last time she saw him before leaving, how he'd already seemed too far away even to return her embrace.

"Come here to fire me?" She's never heard him slur this badly, and Cameron is certain that he must be both drunk and high.

"No." She hasn't even considered the possibility, though she's not sure how to defend him to Cuddy. "I came to see if you're okay. You disappeared. Didn't answer your phone." As awful as he's been to her this day, she doesn't think she'll ever stop worrying about him.

Chase snorts, putting his feet up on what used to be their coffee table. It's scratched and stained almost beyond recognition now. A couple of beer cans fall off the end with an empty clatter. "Get out," says Chase, jaw set.

"No." Cameron crosses her arms, not about to back down this time. "I always told you that key was a bad idea. Makes you vulnerable to people you don't want getting in here."

"You have no business being here." Chase sits up with a grunt. "I'm not your problem anymore. You made me not your problem."

"You're my employee," Cameron insists. "And you're—"

"Don't," Chase cuts her off sharply, surprising her. "You ran away. You asked for the divorce. I gave you what you wanted then. You don't get to change your mind now. I'm not your puzzle to fix. Just leave me the hell alone."

"You didn't give me a choice!" Cameron shoots back, voice rising. She's too exhausted to even try to stay calm anymore; every moment around him lately feels poised on the brink of explosion.

Chase lurches to his feet with a sardonic laugh. He takes a few steps toward her, and Cameron backs up instinctively, smelling the alcohol on his breath.

"Right," he scoffs. "It's my fault. You played a sick little mindgame with me. Don't act the victim here. You _wanted_ to move. I didn't. That was enough of an excuse for you to leave me. Probably been looking for one for months. Didn't write. Didn't call. Didn't even give me an explanation! _Three years_ with you, Allison, and all I get is divorce papers in the mail!"

"I never wanted a divorce!" The words burst from her throat with a force that leaves her feeling shaken, gutted, and yet still overwhelmed with so many things that need to be said.

Chase laughs again, swaying on his feet. "Got a brilliant way of showing it. You never even told me why!"

"You _know_ why!" Cameron shouts, feeling propelled toward him. There was no yelling when she left before, no screaming or crying, just quiet ruin and hopelessness creeping in with the shadows under the door.

"No, I don't!" He's close enough now that she can feel his breath hot on her face, see the sweat and tears drying mingled on his skin.

"I told you I needed space!" Her breath catches in her throat, and for a moment she feels as though she's suffocating in the open air. Too many memories, of lies, betrayals, phone calls from friends she'd never expected to hear from again. "I thought maybe if I left, it would be a wakeup call for you! That you'd—prove to me you hadn't actually changed. I never thought you'd turn around and start fucking everything that moved before I'd even been gone a month!"

"I didn't!" Chase explodes, looking taken aback and genuinely hurt. "You thought—"

"I know what I was told!" Cameron insists, desperately hoping he'll crumble, admit to her accusations. Somehow, now, that seems less painful than learning she's been wrong, lost so much over falsities and premature conclusions. "Just because I left doesn't mean I don't still have friends here! You didn't even try to be subtle about it. They saw you at every bar in town!"

"Yeah, I was drinking," Chase spits. The vein in his forehead is jumping noticeably. "Alone. I haven't been with _anyone_ since you left. Not even casually. Haven't wanted to."

"Prove it," Cameron snaps, though she's already convinced. It feels as though everything's been snatched out from under her, and she's back on dangerous ground again, questioning all of her assumptions. Chase is a study in contradictions now, and the confusion is the most frightening thing of all.

He closes the distance between them in two long strides, more steady than a minute before. Cameron inhales in surprise when his hands come to rest on her shoulders; it's the first time he's willingly touched her in years, and it goes through her body like a shock. She lets him back her up until her shoulderblades hit the wall, hands going to his hips reflexively. He looks down at her with an intensity that burns through the alcohol, through the drugs, straight through the walls she's spent three years constructing around herself. His breath is already coming ragged as he slips his hands down her arms, pressing her further against the wall.

"Do you want me?" Cameron asks, fully aware that it's a challenge.

Chase exhales, savagery smoldering in his eyes he braces his hands on either side of her head, his erection pressing into her belly as he grinds his hips toward her. There's a wildness to him she's never seen before; he seems stronger somehow, sharper, all raw anger and need. Cameron thinks maybe she ought to be afraid, but all she feels is emptiness, and the desperate desire to be wanted by him, if only in this way.

"Fuck, yes," he whispers, breath tickling her neck and sending goosebumps down her back.

It takes her barely a minute to have his shirt unbuttoned and pushed off his shoulders. Cameron doesn't give him time to start on her clothes before grappling with his belt buckle until it gives, undoing his pants equally quickly and shoving them down his hips. He steps out of his pants and boxers, kicking them into the corner, and for a moment she's shocked at how thin he is, as though he's literally wasted away since she left. When he leans over her again, Cameron lunges up to kiss him. Chase turns his head away in a rush, and the rejection stings far worse than she's imagined.

"Not that." It's an order, a wall that Cameron realizes she's not going to be able to break down now.

"Fine," Cameron growls. "If that's how you want to play." She ducks and grazes her teeth along his neck. Chase throws his head back and moans deep in his throat, entire body shuddering as she rakes her nails over his back.

He doesn't even touch her shirt, hands shaking badly as he struggles with the button on her pants. It takes him several tries, working them frantically down her hips when he finally succeeds. Cameron has the sense that he's trying to be as impersonal as possible, hiding from the history that threatens to smother them both. Running away emotionally the way she once tried to, when she'd first been with him all those years ago. And yet, in his every movement, every breath, she can feel the depth of regret, despair, loneliness. It's impossible to resist.

"I miss you," Cameron says softly, the words slipping from her lips before she's realized that she's spoken them aloud. Chase's entire body jerks, face contorting in anger again, though the need is clearly still there.

"Shut up!" He's shouting again, but she can see tears in his eyes even as he blinks them away. He strokes himself roughly, as though nothing matters anymore but finishing this, reaching release if only physical. Cameron sees suddenly that _that_ is the only kind of closure they will have anymore, a wave of hopelessness enveloping her as though he's infected her with it. But still she wants this, needs it, craves it at the moment even more than forgiveness. It feels as though he's slipping away from her, even as she curls her leg around his hip, cries out when he pushes himself into her, barely pausing for breath before finding a rhythm, fast and hard, no hesitation.

"You left," Chase repeats, each word punctuated by a thrust of his hips. "You left and I had _nothing_! Gave me the happiest five months of my life, and then—"

Something in him has broken, barely controlled anger and resentment finally unleashed. His hands clasp her arms, too tightly, as though he can hold her here forever. He's drunk and rough and filled with the desperation of three years of empty resentment, and she realizes that maybe it ought to hurt, but all she's aware of is how much she needs him, misses him, would give anything to simply go back to the way things were. Even now, in the heat of the moment, she knows that is impossible.

"You ruined everything!" Cameron manages, barely able to find breath to get the words out. She grasps his shoulders as she speeds up her movements to match his fever pace, aware that her fingernails are going to leave marks, but not caring. "You!"

The next thing she knows she's sobbing, unable to bear having him suddenly so close and yet so utterly out of her reach at the same time. Chase freezes for a split second to look at her, and Cameron shakes her head, urging him faster until he's slamming against her, every nerve in her body on fire. A moment later, she comes with a hoarse cry, still unable to catch her breath through tears. Chase buries his face in her neck, making a guttural noise as he plunges over the edge of climax with her. And for one instant, he is right there, body wrapped around hers, absolutely raw.

Then, too quickly, it's over, and Chase pushes himself away from her as if he's been burned. Cameron leans against the wall, feeling suddenly that her knees might not support her in his absence.

He kicks her pants across the floor toward her, not meeting her eyes. "Get out. Now."

* * *

Feedback is greatly appreciated. (Just please don't kill me. =p)


	14. Chapter 14

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

"What the hell happened to you?" asks Foreman, by way of greeting. He's early. It's still dark outside, foggy and damp again, and he's noticeably irritable. He could still be upset from the previous day's case, Cameron thinks, but it's not like him to hold onto frustration that way, and she wonders what's happened in his home life since she's last seen him. She doesn't dare ask, feeling already too full of her own emotions; this is a day on which she cannot afford to carry anyone else's burdens, even for a little while.

"Nothing," Cameron insists, without looking up at him. She's been home only long enough to shower and change into fresh clothes before coming back here, unable to face her tiny apartment. It feels too full of silence after being with Chase.

"It doesn't look like nothing," says Foreman, coming to stand over her shoulder. He motions to the mess of paperwork and test results on the table in front of her.

Cameron tenses, feeling already judged, though not exactly threatened by him. "Just trying to get everything in order. We have a meeting with Cuddy at ten. I assume she wants to discuss our handling of the Donahue case."

"_Your_ handling, you mean," says Foreman unhelpfully.

Cameron turns to look at him over her shoulder, cowed. "We're all equally responsible. We were all there when he died. And we all participated in the discussion of how to act."

"But you're the boss," Foreman insists. "If there's one thing I learned trying to handle House, it's that the boss always takes responsibility for the screwups."

Cameron rolls her eyes. "Fine. Then let me work."

Foreman is quiet for a moment, still watching her, as though he can read her like a list of symptoms. "I got the autopsy results," he says at last. "Thought that might be helpful."

"You couldn't have said that from the start?" asks Cameron, taking off her glasses and rubbing her temples. There's a headache working its way into the back of her eyes; she's had too many sleepless nights lately, and it's beginning to catch up.

"Donahue had a nail lodged in his trachea," says Foreman. "Must have inhaled it while working on the construction site. Probably happened so fast, he didn't even realize. It was so far down, none of us would have been able to see it without scoping him. Just a matter of time before he bled out like that, really. We got unlucky. If Chase had succeeded in intubating him, he just would have died even faster."

Cameron winces. This absolves her department of most of the medical responsibility, and yet she can't help feeling like it's a failure. "Thank you," she replies anyway, hoping he'll leave her alone now.

"You went to see Chase last night," says Foreman instead.

"He told you?" she asks in exhausted shock, then realizes the stupidity of that response.

Foreman smirks. "No. Didn't need to."

"Just thought I should talk to him, after what happened," says Cameron, putting her glasses back on and picking up her pen once more, trying to lose herself in the paperwork and use it to shield herself against what she knows is his coming onslaught of questions.

"Right," says Foreman, tone subtly mocking. This is the first time she's felt real resentment from him since being back, and she isn't sure what she's done to arouse it in him. "You went there to discipline him, I'm sure."

"I don't think that's any of your business," Cameron answers, turning a page and hoping he'll take the hint, though she's not honestly sure where she is in her work anymore.

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Foreman!" Cameron slams the file shut and stands to face him, crossing her arms. "Absolutely not. It was strictly business."

Foreman is not about to back down. "You have bruises on your arms," he challenges, pointing. "If it was strictly business, how did that happen?"

Cameron glances at herself, then grabs her labcoat from the back of her chair and shrugs into it, swallowing a sick shock. In the emotional rush of the previous night, and the numbing confusion that's followed her since, she's actually failed to notice the soft yellow bruises forming just above her elbows, like echoes of Chase's fingertips. She ought to be repulsed, she thinks, ought to be afraid, or angry at him for hurting her. Yet all she can remember is what it was like in those few moments, to have anything resembling intimacy with him now. And how badly she already wants more of it.

"You had sex," says Foreman, the threat of this knowledge clear in his voice. He is on edge in a way Cameron hasn't expected, and she isn't sure exactly how to read him. "Don't do it again. I didn't support you in moving back here so that you could screw things up worse than they already are."

Cameron flinches, surprised by the impact of those words when she already knows the weight of her mistakes so well. "Why is my personal life so important to you? What are you afraid of? I can handle myself, thanks."

Foreman laughs, coldly. "_You_ put yourself in this position. I don't particularly care if _you_ get hurt. But don't play games with Chase. It was hard enough last time picking up the pieces you left behind. I don't want to do it again."

Cameron opens her mouth to reply, but finds that there are no words for the puzzle that has become her relationship with Chase. She isn't sure it's possible to articulate in a way that even she could understand.

"I'll see you at the meeting," says Foreman, and walks out before she's even managed to attempt a response.

–

Cuddy is not pleased. Cameron can tell even before she's said anything, even before Foreman and Chase have arrived. They sit in silence on either side of the imposing wooden desk, all semblance of friendship forgotten in this context. Chase is unsurprisingly late, looking even worse than the night before, though Cameron continually finds herself thinking it wouldn't be possible for him to look any sicker and still be functional. He drops heavily into the chair furthest from her, Foreman filling the space between.

"I think you all know what we're here to discuss," says Cuddy, having waited for everyone to arrive. The fact that she hasn't started without Chase speaks to the seriousness of this meeting.

"I know you want to talk about the Donahue case," says Cameron. She takes the meticulously-ordered file from her lap and puts it on the desk, hoping to defuse at least a little of the tension.

Cuddy appears unimpressed. "I understand it's inevitable that we'll lose some of our patients. But your department is under particular scrutiny by the Board and all the rest of this hospital's administration. You take roughly one case a week. You haven't even seen five patients yet, and one of them has already died. That's not going to look good."

"Sam Donahue inhaled a rusty nail," says Cameron coldly, opening the file to the page of autopsy notes. "As he coughed and vomited, it changed position and lacerated his trachea. He bled out. There was nothing my team could have done differently to result in a better outcome. We had the case for less than two hours. Not even long enough to run any tests. If you're looking to assign blame, I'd recommend you consider Donahue's construction company. Or maybe the ER. But not us."

"That's good to hear," says Cuddy, still sounding decidedly dissatisfied. "However, regardless of whether your department is directly implicated in the patient's death, I've heard several disturbing reports about your failure to discipline your employees."

"That's ridiculous," Cameron cuts in immediately, bristling. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Chase watching her, smirking. He's still angry from the night before, she can tell, and suddenly she feels a little thrill of fear that he won't refrain from expressing it until after the meeting's end.

"I've been told by at least a half dozen ER staff that you stood by and watched, doing nothing while your team failed to even attempt an intubation today. You didn't aid in the resuscitation efforts, either. I put you in charge of this department to ensure that it was run properly, Dr. Cameron." Cuddy sighs.

Cameron folds her hands in her lap, looking at them intently. She doesn't have an explanation for the previous day. She knows she froze because Chase did first, but that does nothing to justify her position in this argument, and everything to jeopardize her hard-won authority.

"Do you even know what your employees are doing?" Cuddy presses.

"Of course I do," Cameron snaps, the insult stinging even more because she knows Cuddy is actually right.

"Dr. Chase has been working overtime in the clinic for at least four hours every night that you don't have a case," says Cuddy. "And weekends. Were you aware of that?"

Cameron looks up sharply, glancing first at Chase, and then back at Cuddy, shocked. "And that's a bad thing?" she asks, trying to collect her composure.

"It's a bad thing that you didn't know about it," says Cuddy. The look on her face says she knows she's made her point.

"I'm in control of my department," says Cameron coolly. She looks over at Foreman, who seems to be making a point not to meet her eyes. But he isn't saying anything, and his lack of support now hurts more than it ought to.

Chase snorts, confirming her fears. "Yeah. You control us. Good job."

"Enough," says Cameron brusquely, too well aware of what a disaster this is about to become.

"You don't do anything," Chase continues, slurring. He's obviously drunk, at ten o'clock in the morning on a workday. That in itself seems the ultimate betrayal of the trust she's put in him, let alone the things coming out of his mouth. "You act like our equal. Or less. So long as we're not killing anyone, you're content to sit back and let us run the show. You don't even have good medical opinions anymore. You're so guilt-ridden over leaving in the first place, you'd do anything just to get us to tell you you're not worthless."

"Get out," Cameron tells him, slowly and acidly. She feels overwhelmingly sick with disgust and rage at his newest game. She can't be sure whether he's doing this out of vengeance or an absolute apathy, but she knows without a doubt in this moment that she's never for a second been wrong about him.

Chase laughs nastily. "Or what? You'll fire me? You wouldn't." He turns directly to Cuddy. "We all know medically, it should be my department. You put her in charge to babysit me. Just thought you should know she showed up on my doorstep and asked me to fuck her last night."

"You're fired!" Cameron slams her palm on the surface of Cuddy's desk, and everyone jumps. It's an impulsive decision, but her conviction doesn't waiver even for a moment.

Chase lurches to his feet like she's actually hit him, chair falling over with a clatter. All eyes are on him as he sways dizzily, looking sickly pale and weak as all the spirit seems to drain out of him. Cameron has expected a fight, more inflammatory remarks, or possibly a rejection of her decision outright. But it doesn't come. Instead, he simply stands before all of them, looking lost. For one breathless moment, Cameron thinks he's going to collapse again. Then he nods once, curtly, and stumbles out of the room without another word.

* * *

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	15. Chapter 15

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

Cameron plays a waiting game with herself. This time there is no case, no paperwork, no grief-stricken family members to keep her at the hospital overtime. There is only Cuddy's disappointment in her, and the firm warning that she is on probation, and probably should have simply been fired. Cameron makes herself sit through the rest of the day at work, reviewing old charts and case notes for the second and third time, as much for a distraction as to get a sense of what the department has been like without her the past three years.

It's dark when she pulls into the condo's lot again; that's the requirement she's given herself. But it isn't as late this time, just barely after dinner for the rest of the world, and she hurries up to the door without hesitation. She doesn't even intend to knock this time, knowing Chase won't answer, and for a second she's filled with panic that he might not have put the spare key back. Bending toward the flower pot, she skims her fingers along the top of the soil until they brush familiar metal, and then she remembers how to breathe.

The lights are all off in the condo this time, the only illumination coming from the streetlights outside the living room windows. The curtains are open, and possibly the windows as well from the earthy scent which seems to saturate everything. Beneath it, the smell of alcohol is much stronger than the previous night, cloying, almost burning the inside of Cameron's nose as she tries to catch her breath. Chase is sitting on the couch again, positioned so that the sickly yellow slit of light coming in from the window frames his eyes.

"Get out," he says flatly, by way of greeting.

Cameron crosses her arms, not about to back down easily this time. "No." She isn't sure why she's here, but there was a momentary flicker of that _something_ again in Cuddy's office, nagging at the back of her mind all day long afterward, as though beckoning her to follow. And she's still furious with him besides, not at all ready to close the door between them, even if he never comes back to work. Closure this time is a necessity.

"Made it pretty clear I don't want you here," he insists.

Cameron takes a few steps closer. "Then why did you put the spare key back? You knew I knew where to find it."

Chase shrugs. There's something very wrong about his eyes, and Cameron suddenly notices the empty pill bottle on the table. She has a brief flash of the tox screen results again, but that doesn't fit.

"This is Valium," she says, surprised, as she picks it up.

"'s none of your business." Chase sits up and tries to snatch it from her, nearly falling off the couch from even that simple motion.

"There were amphetamines in your tox screen before," says Cameron, a sick feeling creeping up into the back of her throat as the pieces fit together. "You've been alternating uppers and downers. _That's_ why you never sleep." She pauses, biting her lip as the full horror of that realization blossoms. "_And_ alcohol? God, Chase, that combination will kill you!"

He laughs. "Three years. Hasn't yet. 's too bad."

"Don't talk like that!" Cameron snaps, unsure of whether he's serious or simply trying to goad her further. Either way, it's worked.

Chase hauls himself to his feet with a grunt. "Like anyone would care if I turned up dead."

"_I_ care!" Cameron rounds the coffee table so that nothing lies between them in the dark.

Chase scoffs, and she realizes instantly that she's fallen into his trap, responded in exactly the way he was hoping. "_You_ fired me. _You_ left. You're _nothing_ now."

Cameron flinches; his hatred still bites through her like a knife, though she's come to expect nothing less. "What was I supposed to do?"

Chase takes another step toward her, swaying dizzily, and Cameron aches to reach out and steady him despite everything. "I dunno..._not_ fire me? Not—leave? I _believed_ you, Allison. Everything you promised, and you—"

"I didn't have a choice!" Cameron interrupts, unable to listen to him any longer. It's the same circle as always, the same accusations, and the same betrayals. Once she thought they were getting closer to something, making progress toward a better resolution, but now it seems painfully obvious that they are headed only for the ultimate ruin. "Everything you've done—Everything you've said—I loved you _so_ much. But you changed. I couldn't be with you anymore. When I came back, I thought maybe—But it's only gotten worse. You've made that _perfectly_ clear." She's surprised to find tears in her eyes, and she brushes them away savagely.

"Right," Chase sneers, "it's all about you."

"I'm leaving in the morning," says Cameron firmly, though she hasn't actually made a decision before now. Suddenly it seems certain that there is nothing left for her here, no way for her to stay even just to work. Nothing anywhere, really, now that she's cut ties with her family too.

Chase inhales sharply, and there's a barely-concealed danger in his voice now. "Of course you are. 's not fun for you anymore. You get off on taking advantage of damaged people and then leaving them in the dust. No wonder you married a dying man. Must have been the ultimate thrill. Only he _died_ before you could leave him for his best friend. What a buzzkill."

Cameron's entire body moves instinctively, hand connecting with his cheek in a sharp slap before she's even realized what she's doing. Then she's breathing hard, tears stinging her eyes and spilling down her cheeks as the room swims around her. Chase lurches forward, covering her mouth with his own, and holding onto her shoulders to keep himself upright. He tastes overwhelmingly of tears, old liquor, and loneliness. There is nothing tender about this kiss, breathless and almost violent. Cameron rakes her hands over his back, struggling to pull his shirt from his pants, anger instantly transformed into desperate need.

Chase responds instantly, pulling it over his head, then ripping two of the buttons off her blouse in his haste. Cameron wastes no time in unfastening his belt buckle and jeans, even more rushed than the last time. No pretenses, just wistfulness and impossibilities.

Cameron steps gracefully out of her work shoes, undoing her own pants and tipping her head back as Chase tangles his hands in her hair. His stubble is rough against her neck as he presses his lips to the sensitive spot just behind her ear, the contrast making her shiver. She doesn't even think about steering him toward the couch or the bedroom, the previous night still too fresh in her mind. Instead Cameron backs up, seeking the support of the wall as he leans heavily on her. Chase's hands are at her back now, roving over her skin without direction, shaking. He is all motion, all ragged breathing and adrenaline, ducking his head further to graze his teeth along her clavicle.

Cameron stumbles backward further in the dark, realizing that she's misjudged how far away the wall is, and feeling as though there's still a fathomless emptiness behind her. The smell of alcohol is stronger here, acrid, and she has the brief flash of realization that the carpet is wet. Then she takes one step too far, and there's the sudden shock of glass biting into her bare foot, the hot rush of blood following instantly.

"Fuck," she chokes, barely recognizing the sound of her own voice in the numbing shock of what's happened. Chase jumps back as though she's hit him again, somehow managing to reach a lamp in one quick motion, the momentary magic of night and history vanishing in a flash as the room is illuminated. The floor against the wall is littered with shattered bottles, she sees now, like bones in a trashed graveyard. Chase must have thrown them at the wall, she thinks distantly, observing with a morbid detachment the way several shards have worked their way into the sole of her foot, which is bleeding badly now. They're too small and in too deep for her to remove herself, she thinks, and Chase is obviously in no state to help. She'll have no choice but to go to an ER.

"Get out," Chase breathes shakily. He's on the other side of the room, deathly pale. "Please. _Please_ get away from me. Now."

Then he's gathering up his clothes somehow, pulling them on backwards and inside out, and stumbling out the door faster than she would have thought was possible. Cameron has the momentary thought that she ought to go after him, ought to make sure that he doesn't hurt himself or anyone else in this state, but she's in no position to do anything but get treatment for herself. And she has the feeling she would only make things worse besides. Instead she stands perfectly still, watching blood drip from her skin to the carpet for several long minutes before forcing herself back into motion.

–

Princeton General's ER is further away than Princeton-Plainsboro, but it's blessedly empty, and Cameron can't imagine needing to explain this to the people she knows. She isn't sure how much time passes, but it's still dark outside once she's received antibiotics, a tetanus booster, and eleven stitches. She's made it through the swamp of paperwork, and is already fantasizing about going home to sleep away the horror of this day when her cell phone rings.

Digging it out of her purse, she sees that it's Foreman's number and sighs. She has no choice but to answer after Cuddy's warning; if they have a case now she'll have to go in and handle it professionally, no matter how tired or upset she is.

"Cameron," she answers flatly, in no mood for niceties.

"Allison." Foreman sounds out of breath, and there's the noise of people talking loudly in the background. "You need to get in here, now."

"Is there a case?" asks Cameron, frustrated by his tone. "Because I'm going to need more details than that if you expect me to just show up. It's the middle of the night."

"No case," says Foreman, "but—"

"Then I don't want to hear about it," Cameron interrupts, and nearly hangs up on him.

"Chase wrapped his car around a tree." He says it loudly enough that she hears the words clearly, even with the phone already several inches away.

"What?" Cameron freezes, pressing the phone to her ear again, suddenly wide awake. "Is he okay?"

Foreman is silent for a moment, and Cameron finally manages to place the noise in the background as the din of the trauma bay. "Just—get here."

* * *

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	16. Chapter 16

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

Chase is curled up facing the wall when Cameron finally gets to his room. He doesn't turn, or do anything to otherwise acknowledge her presence, but he's shivering hard enough that she can see his shoulders shaking from across the room. She's had to pull strings to get him moved down here immediately out of surgery, but seeing him like this makes her even more glad that she did.

Cameron walks silently over to the side of his bed, barely aware of the pain in her foot, though she's still in the heels she wore to work this morning. Chase's eyes are closed, but there's too much tension in his face for him to actually be asleep, skin clammy with a sheen of sweat and dried tear tracks no one's bothered to clean away. Instinctively, she reaches out and brushes the hair off his forehead. He flinches in response, blinking at her blearily. He's disoriented still, from the anesthesia as well as the drugs and alcohol, but Cameron can tell he's lucid enough to understand her.

"Hi," she breathes. There's so much to say to him, yet she can't seem to find a beginning.

Chase swallows, voice almost painfully hoarse when he manages to speak. "Allison. Why're you here?"

"Well," says Cameron, pulling the chair up to the side of the bed and sitting, "turns out I'm still your medical proxy. You never changed it."

Chase nods, wincing. "I know."

"You knew?" For a moment she isn't sure what else to say, seeing now his bluff over her rights to his medical records the last time he was in the hospital.

Chase shrugs, then shudders, trying to pull the sheets up higher.

"Are you cold?" Cameron asks, then realizes how stupidly obvious that question is. "Do you want me to get you another blanket?"

Chase reacts with surprising speed, catching her hand before she's even started to get up. "Please don't go anywhere."

"You'll feel better as the anesthesia wears off more," says Cameron, because she isn't sure what else to say. His hand is still on hers, and she laces their fingers, squeezing gently.

"Am I—okay?" Chase asks, and for the first time she sees the very real fear in his eyes. "No one's—no one's told me anything. I remember the accident, and them taking me into surgery, but that's—that's all."

"You got lucky," Cameron answers, trying to stay calm. It's easier to talk about with the professional detachment of a case presentation. "Your left foot and ankle were crushed severely. You've already had one reconstructive surgery, and you'll probably need more. The orthopedic surgeon is optimistic that you'll be able to regain full function. Beyond that—you have a concussion, and probably some whiplash, but—It could have been so much worse."

"Fuck," says Chase softly, sounding more upset by the information than he ought to.

Cameron takes a breath, steeling herself. "You tried to kill yourself." No one else has said it, but she's been absolutely certain from the moment she first got Foreman's phone call, and she can't wait any longer to have it out in the open.

Chase flinches, hard, then simply squeezes his eyes shut, tears slipping silently down his cheeks.

"Why?" Cameron whispers, cradling his hand between both of hers.

"Couldn't live with it anymore," Chase manages after a moment, still not looking at her.

"What do you mean?" Cameron presses, leaning closer to him.

"I—killed a man," he answers, barely audible. He peers at her through his eyelashes, like he's expecting her to react with violence toward him, or maybe just get up and leave. When she remains still, he takes a shaky breath, swallowing again visibly. "I _killed_ him. And maybe it was right, and maybe it saved lives, but—I'm still a murderer. I _deserve_ to die. Deserve—Hell."

This admission strikes her like a blow to the gut, and Cameron sits reeling for a long time before she can even piece together the reality of what he's just said. She's spent the past three years secure in the belief that he'd become a heartless monster without morals, that the man she once wanted to spend her life with was so utterly changed as to be dead to her. Coming back has seemed like proof of his transformation, every time he's lashed out reminding her exactly why leaving him was the only way to protect herself.

Never once has it occurred to her that he might be so broken _because_ of the guilt.

Hearing this admission now is like watching him resurrected before her eyes; clearly some part of the good in him _has_ survived. Yet all she can think is that he's spent all this time _alone_ with his demons, suffering silently behind the veil of drugs and booze. And all because three years ago she was mistaken, was too ready to condemn, too faithless to stay and let herself be proven wrong. Now she wonders whether he's already too destroyed by it all to be saved.

"'s been years," he continues, when she still can't find the words to say anything. "He's still all I see when I try to sleep. Nothing helps. I just—I _can't_. I'm so tired."

"Oh, god," Cameron breathes, having to force the words through her own tears. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You left," he answers simply, but it's suddenly unclear whether the anger is directed at her or himself. "I deserved it."

"I thought—you'd changed," says Cameron, the words sounding empty and foolish now, and she thinks how weak she must be to have let them hold such power over her life. "That you were _proud_ of what you'd done. House said—"

Chase tenses again at that, pulling his hand away in a rush and leaving her feeling bereft. "So—what? You just decided to _leave_? Based on something House said and a _hunch_? You never even told me the reason. One conversation, Allison. That's all it would have taken."

"I tried," Cameron protests, blinking back tears. "I tried everything I knew."

"You gave up on me," Chase insists, turning away from her. "Everyone does eventually."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, crying openly now. "I'm _so_ sorry. Please let me help you."

He shakes his head, though the movement is obviously painful. "Too late. You're right. I am a monster. I hurt anyone that gets too close. Look at tonight."

"I'll take my chances," Cameron answers, getting to her feet. He might be right, she thinks. Even now, vulnerable from the injuries, from the surgery, from ghosts, he is barely recognizable as the man she married. Still, the knowledge that the hope exists is enough to make her wholly willing to try to help him heal.

"What are you doing?" Chase asks, sounding panicked. "You should go. You shouldn't have to be here."

Ignoring him, Cameron steps out of her shoes for the second time this night, and crawls into bed beside him, unable to stand not touching him any longer. His entire body is rigid as she wraps herself around him, careful not to jostle his injured foot. He's still shaking near-convulsively, and she holds on hard.

"Don't," he protests. "Please don't. Just go, before anything else—" But his arms are wrapped around her already, hands fisted desperately in her shirt, and there is nothing in the world capable of making her leave now.

"I'm not going anywhere," Cameron murmurs against his ear.

Chase sobs roughly, finally entirely broken, utterly vulnerable. She's never seen him like this, never seen the wall come down completely. It's both humbling and heartbreaking, and she finds herself crying again as she rubs his back, willing to do anything if it would mean lessening the deep-seated agony she can feel in him now. He turns his face into her shoulder, muffling harsh, choking sobs. She loves him, she knows unequivocally in this moment.

"Don't let go," he whispers against her ear, and Cameron finds herself choking, feeling overwhelmed with regret at the things she's unknowingly destroyed.

Impossibly, she feels grateful for this night, knowing that were it not for the pain, the anesthesia, his final desperation, he would never have made any of these confessions. Even now, she doesn't expect the closeness to last. Simply having the awareness of her mistakes doesn't fix anything, she knows too well. Even starting on a path toward something better seems all but impossible still, and she has no doubt that Chase will retreat behind his defenses again the moment he's remotely able.

Cameron is quiet for a long time, rubbing his back slowly as her mind works at lightning speed to piece together these latest revelations. Eventually his breathing begins to even out again, and he loosens his grip on her shirt, simply leaning against her in exhaustion.

"When Donahue died," she says finally, reluctant to upset him further, but needing to know the whole truth after so many years. "He reminded you of Dibala. The way he died. That's—why you froze?"

Chase nods miserably, resting his forehead against the side of her neck, breath giving her goosebumps. "Don't know what happened. It was just—All I could see. You were right to fire me. He died because of me."

"He was dying either way," Cameron corrects him, bringing one hand up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He makes a soft noise in response, relaxing further against her. "You can have your job back. When you're ready."

Chase doesn't respond to that, shifting his head onto her chest so that his ear rests over her heart, eyes closed. Cameron watches him for a long time, wondering whether he's listening to her heartbeat as his breathing finally slows. He's still shaking, though not as badly. Thinking he's asleep, Cameron bends to kiss his hair lightly.

Chase flinches in response, making her jump. He settles again a few inches away, but he's still facing her, and Cameron knows better than to push. "Are you okay?" he asks tiredly. "Did you get your foot looked at?"

"I'm fine," Cameron reassures him, a little surprised he's even remembered with everything that's happened to him tonight. "I got antibiotics and stitches."

"You needed stitches? God, Allison. I'm sorry. You should have stayed away."

"You said you remember the accident," she prompts, wanting to get off the subject of her own injury. "You were conscious?"

"Wasn't how I meant it to go," Chase says quietly, fingers playing idly with a wrinkle in her sleeve. "Just—wanted it to be over. Ended up trapped. Thought I might lose my foot, but I knew I hadn't done well enough to finish the job. And then it was—hours, I think. Started to think no one was going to come."

Cameron sucks in a breath, pained by every word. She can't even begin to imagine how traumatized he must be, between the horrors he's been hiding for so long, and the personal hell he's been through tonight. "Please don't talk like that. You don't have to do this alone. Let me help you."

"You should get home," Chase answers evasively, hesitantly fingering the place where he ripped a button from her shirt earlier. "It's late."

Cameron sighs, unsure whether he's testing her or honestly believes that he deserves to be alone right now. "I'm staying with you tonight. Don't even try to tell me not to."

"Thank you," he answers quietly, after a pause. He shifts in the bed, settling more comfortably, though still not touching her.

"Can you at least try to get some rest?" Cameron asks, reluctant to push the subject after his earlier admission, yet knowing it's what he needs more than anything right now.

Chase nods against the pillow, already half asleep, demons evidently subdued for the moment by the influence of drugs and physical pain. Cameron stays awake for a long while, watching him and feeling crushed by a fresh wave of grief. It's so much more painful, knowing that this is all because of a cruel mistake, because she didn't have the strength to stay and believe. Worse knowing what they might have had, if only she'd tried harder to find the truth. She isn't naïve, isn't an idealist anymore. She knows better than to believe that they've done anything this night but expose just how deeply-rooted their problems are. Even if he remembers this tomorrow, it will be only in bitterness.

The life they had together three years ago is gone; nothing is going to bring that back, not ever. Cameron doesn't expect to regain his trust easily, isn't sure he even has any trust left to give. He's been hurt so many times in his life, it seems almost inevitable that this must be the final blow, a destruction from which he won't be able to recover. The truths she's learned to see tonight are at once her salvation and her downfall. She isn't ready to give up on him, she realizes, no matter how small the chance that he will ever be able to be happy with her again. If she has to spend the rest of her life trying in vain to rebuild some semblance of what has been lost, she already knows that she'll do it without question.

* * *

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	17. Chapter 17

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

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Chapter Seventeen

The nightmare begins unlike any of the others.

It's cold outside, unseasonably so, the trees barren and covered in a silvery veil of ice, though they ought to still be lush and full of the prime green of summer. It's raining, a rapidly-freezing sludge that turns the pavement slick and deadly, the perfect backdrop to mask this crime. The world is completely silent as he steps down onto the accelerator, as if even nature is sleeping this night, not a soul in sight to bear witness. It's a tiny winding backroad, untraveled by most, and the tree is a spectral silhouette of reaching black arms and hanging moss, illuminated only by headlights.

The next thirty feet seem inevitable now, the car moving of its own accord, so that he's certain he couldn't stop it now if he wanted to. A cosmic series of dominoes, set up from birth, ready to fall in this moment.

The impact is impossibly silent, a moment of blackness, and then the million tiny teeth of glass from the shattered windshield raining down on him, digging their way into his face and arms like miniscule daggers. He finds that he can't cry out, can't even breathe, chest so completely filled with pain that there's no room for anything else. This isn't right, he knows instantly. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. There wasn't supposed to be any _after_, and though this certainly doesn't seem to be Hell, it's unbearably torturous already. He tries to move, to get out of the ruined car and into the dark cold outside, but finds himself trapped. A horrible mistake, built on a foundation of betrayals and failures too deep to fathom.

And then a light from outside, too bright, stinging his eyes like the heat of tears that will never come. Dibala's face, looming outside the broken window, putrid green and partially decayed, maggots writhing in the empty eye sockets even as blood pours from the slack-jawed mouth. Skeletal hands reach into the car through the space where the glass used to be, grasping blindly.

Chase wakes with a cry he barely recognizes as his own, momentarily unable to convince himself that the light is from the fluorescents out in the hospital hallway, utterly unsupernatural. It takes another second for him to realize that the hands are Cameron's, and that she must have been trying to wake him for a while, judging by the panicked look on her face.

The pain and nausea slam into him like a second impact, and he can't catch his breath past the tightness in his chest. He still can't find his voice, can't even manage to tell her before he's tasting bile at the back of his throat. It's all he can do to sit up and try to lean over the side of the bed, but he's forgotten the heavy dressings on his foot, and he ends up vomiting helplessly down the front of his hospital gown and onto the bed.

For a moment there is nothing but the pain in his head, sharp and searing like a sword's point stuck straight into the apex of his skull. The nausea seems unending, wave after wave amplifying the pain as though it might actually tear him apart. He's dimly aware that he's choking, still unable to breathe, little gold pinwheels of oxygen deprivation dancing across his field of vision. For a long time, he's certain he's going to pass out, but it never comes. Gradually the agony lessens so that he can see again, and Chase realizes that Cameron is still here, holding onto his shoulders.

"Hey, breathe," she murmurs against his ear. "You're hyperventilating. Just slow down and you'll feel better."

Chase jerks away from her instinctively, already shocked that she's still here, still this close when he's just been sick all over the bed. The nightmare seems proof that the previous night's respite is only temporary, fleeting and already gone. He hasn't expected Cameron to stay at all, he realizes, much less when everything about him is repulsive. He's disgusted with himself constantly, but this is above and beyond. The shame is instant, already warring with the lingering panic still churning his gut in the absence of the nausea.

"Careful!" Cameron warns, catching his upper arms again just as he loses his balance and nearly tumbles out of the bed.

The motion jars his injured foot, and Chase hears himself cry out again, though it takes a moment before he's even registered that pain as his own. "Don't," he manages to tell her, still painfully hoarse.

Cameron frowns, already back at his shoulder. "Don't what? It's just me."

"Touch me," he chokes out, still having trouble finding breath. Cameron has an endless sympathy for all things broken, sick, and hurting. He's seen her wounded by it too many times before, and the last thing he wants now is to put her at that risk himself. Even more threatening is the possibility that that's the _only_ reason she's here now. "Don't touch me. Please. I'll just—Look at me. You shouldn't be around me."

Cameron looks at him for a long moment, brow furrowed in thought, and he can practically see the moment her decision is made, though he isn't sure what she's decided. "Okay," she says, without sounding at all convincing. She gets out of the bed carefully, and Chase settles heavily back against the pillows.

"What are you doing?" he asks, when she doesn't make any move toward picking up her shoes or bag.

"Not touching you," Cameron answers, and begins stripping the blankets off the bed.

"The nurse can do that," Chase protests, aware that he's currently too weak to actually stop her. Cameron ignores him, not even saying anything that he can object to, completely intent on cleaning up the bed. Biting his lip, Chase closes his eyes against the too-bright light she's turned on, resigning himself to the fact that continuing to fight her on this is only going to make things worse.

The panic is still there, constricting his throat and crushing his chest as though he is the one choking to death, Dibala's ghost his constant companion as always. But he's gotten good at pushing it into the background, or at least hiding its presence from the rest of the world. Now his head and injured foot are screaming for attention, almost a relief in their power of distraction. Physical pain has always seemed easier.

"Robert."

Cameron's hand on his shoulder makes him jump, and he looks up in time to see her hanging a fresh bag on his IV pole.

"Morphine," she says quietly, not waiting for him to ask. "I can tell you're in pain."

Chase swallows, not about to let her see the fresh wave of fear that comes with the prospect of having to confront the panic again head-on. "Thank you."

"Let me help you change?" she asks, evidently oblivious to his lie. She has a fresh hospital gown in her arms, he realizes, and that amplifies the humiliation that's making his skin crawl.

"Why are you doing this?" Chase asks again, using the energy of discomfort to push himself up in the bed again. The pain is starting to fade slightly, just enough that he's able to focus again on what she's doing, on the fact that she's spent the entire night in his bed, and hasn't run away from him now. "We're not together. We're not—anything. We're not going to _be_ anything. It's too late for that."

"I'm going to help you change now," says Cameron firmly. She's obviously affected by what he's just said, but she doesn't acknowledge it, and he's not sure what to make of the set of her jaw anymore. Chase closes his eyes again as she unties his hospital gown, shivering in the cold air and the unseen scrutiny of her gaze. She's always been a mystery to him more often than not, in spite of the skills he's developed at reading people. Only five short months from the time he'd finally let himself believe fully in her until the day when everything fell apart. He wonders how long it will be this time before she gives up the act again and takes off.

Finishing, Cameron slips back into the freshly-made bed beside him. Chase turns his head toward her on the pillow, momentarily too exhausted to argue. She's curled up on her side facing him, evidently content to watch for the moment. He hasn't exactly made a purposeful effort _not_ to look at her the past few months, and yet this is the first time he's conscious of really seeing her as she is now, rather than the memory of the woman who left. There are worry lines just beginning to etch themselves around her eyes, though she still has the air of illusive youth that makes her authority shocking. Her hair is much shorter now, more professional, and he finds himself reaching out to finger a lock of it before he's realized what he's doing.

"Bad dream?" she asks softly.

Chase flinches, pulling his hand away. The question is all it takes to bring the images back full-force, panic turning his blood to ice and reawakening the pain in his head. "Don't remember," he manages, too well aware that she won't believe him, but also that he has no choice. Talking about it will only strengthen the nightmare, and that is something he absolutely cannot bear.

Cameron sighs, clearly frustrated. "You tried to kill yourself last night," she says evenly.

Chase looks away for a moment, trying to find some semblance of calm. He remembers everything about the previous night in vivid detail, every event burned into his mind just as clearly as Dibala's death, primed to become his newest round of dreams. Cameron knows now, knows _everything_, and is the only one. And she is still here, no matter how dangerous that observation may be.

"I haven't told anyone," she continues, more gently, but still just as firm. "And I'm not going to. If you agree to let me help you."

Chase narrows his eyes, still unable to even begin to trust that she's speaking out of anything other than a misguided sense of pity. "Why? I told you, we're not—"

"I don't care," she interrupts, before he can finish that statement. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm not looking for any kind of commitment. I just don't want you to wind up dead."

"I'm fine," Chase lies, bristling. "And I'm not your responsibility."

Cameron sits up, but doesn't get out of the bed, leaning over him. "You are not fine. You told me yourself. The act doesn't work after you've admitted it's fake."

"I was delirious last night. Anesthesia." It's even less convincing, he knows, but she's turning this into a battle of wills, and he isn't about to back down, can't afford to surrender his defenses.

"Fine," Cameron snaps, clearly angry now. "We'll pretend you didn't admit to anything. I know you've been using drugs and alcohol. Maybe you had a valid prescription once, but you're _way_ out of control now. And you're living in a dump. You just had surgery on your foot. You're going to need help, and a place to stay where you won't be in danger of hurting yourself worse."

"Well, then that _definitely_ wouldn't be with you." The words come instinctively, without conscious thought, born out of too many years of resentment.

Something changes in Cameron, the lines of her face seeming to harden. "You're dying," she says flatly, everything about her absolutely serious. This isn't a competition anymore, isn't a fight. There's fear in her eyes, and it has nothing to do with anything he has said or done to her. "I got the results of your labwork last night. Your liver function is severely impaired. If you don't get clean _now_, you're going to end up exactly like House. If there's still anyone you haven't pushed away completely."

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	18. Chapter 18

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

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Chapter Eighteen

Cameron feels guilty the moment she's said it. She's spent all but a few hours of the night waiting sleeplessly to give him the news, worrying about how it will affect him when he's already so broken. His entire demeanor has changed before her eyes, reminding her again just how scared he must be beneath all the defenses.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, when nearly a full minute has passed and he hasn't responded. He's still looking at her, but she has the distinct sense that he isn't seeing her anymore. In the absence of his anger he looks terribly ill, pale and haggard, face and arms peppered with cuts and bruises from the broken windshield. "I wasn't trying to scare you with that. Or—I was, but—not to be petty. There's a very good chance that you can still reverse this, but you _have to_ take it seriously."

Chase shrugs, turning away from her to face the wall. He is entirely closed off again, though in a very different way now. Cameron finds herself wishing guiltily for the previous night again, for the momentary glimpse of him without all the inhibitions he's built for himself. She's terrified that he's given up so completely, and yet knows that had this not happened, she might never have learned the truth of her mistakes in time.

"This is—lucky," Cameron tries again, wincing as soon as she hears the words aloud. They sound even more insensitive than she thought, though she still honestly believes the sentiment, and hopes sincerely that he can understand her position. "If this hadn't happened, we might never have found out in time."

Chase doesn't react at all, except to curl up more tightly, gripping the edge of the sheet as his shoulders shake a little. She can't tell whether it's from the news she's just given him, the morphine, or both.

"I just mean—now we can get you help," she continues, unable to stand the silence.

"Can't get help," Chase mumbles into the pillow. "And _we_ aren't doing anything."

"I understand that you're scared," she continues, touching his shoulder tentatively. Chase flinches, pulling further away until she's afraid he'll fall out of the bed if she continues pushing him. "I'm scared too. But we—_you_—have to try."

Chase is silent, and suddenly Cameron finds herself terrified that he really isn't going to try. He's attempted suicide, after all, and while that's seemed like a very different situation from dying slowly of liver failure, she can't help wondering whether he really has given up too entirely. She's seen too many times just how difficult addiction is to conquer, and he's still in so much psychological pain besides.

"I think you should come stay with me," she hurries on, unable to continue that train of thought at the moment. "At least until your foot heals enough for you to get around on your own. I can help you get off the drugs, too. I'll do whatever it takes. The orthopedic surgeon wanted to discuss options for sending you to a longterm physical rehab facility, but I thought that would be a bad idea, considering...well, everything. I know you can't afford for anyone else to know. Which is why I should be the one to help you."

"No," Chase whispers, and pulls the sheets up higher.

"Robert, _please_." Resigning herself to the fact that he isn't going to turn back over to face her, Cameron gets up and moves to kneel on the floor by his side of the bed. He has his eyes closed, brow furrowed and jaw set. She takes his hand, holding on though he's still not responding. Suddenly it's hard to breathe, hard to speak past the tightness in her throat, the reality that he might actually be too hopeless to do this looming as large as her worst nightmares. "Please, let me help you. I know—that we can't just go back to the way things were. Maybe we can't ever have anything again. But I need to know that you're okay. Even if it's with someone else."

Chase opens his eyes slowly, just looking at her for a very long moment in silence, face entirely unreadable. "Allison—" he starts, barely audible. But there's a knock at the door, and he closes his mouth again immediately.

"Dr. Cameron? Dr. Chase?" Cuddy sticks her head into the room, and Cameron practically wants to scream. She has the feeling that she's just barely begun making progress with Chase, and this kind of interruption is the last thing they need right now. And she doesn't have the energy to deal with her boss's scrutiny right now besides.

"Dr. Cuddy," Cameron echoes, suddenly grateful that she's moved off of the bed.

"I need to talk to both of you," says Cuddy, and her tone makes Cameron's stomach churn with a fresh wave of anxiety. There is no way this is going to be good news.

"You can talk to me," says Cameron, getting to her feet. The last thing Chase can afford is further pressure, further loss. Everything is at stake for him, and she's afraid of what he'll say to Cuddy. "Outside."

"This concerns both of you," Cuddy insists, crossing her arms.

"You can talk to _me_," Cameron repeats coldly, not about to back down. "I'm his medical proxy. Anything you need to say, you can say to me. Out in the hall. He needs to rest right now."

Cuddy looks slightly surprised, but still takes a moment to acquiesce, sighing. "Fine." She turns and walks out into the hall, waiting for Cameron to follow.

"How is he?" asks Cuddy, when the door to his room is closed again. The blinds are still open, and Cameron is all too aware of how sound carries in this building. They'll be lucky if Chase doesn't overhear anyway, but she is still hoping he'll be exhausted enough from his injuries and the drugs to actually sleep in her absence.

"Not good," Cameron answers curtly. "But I assume you knew that. You have access to all patient files."

"Okay, I'll get to the point," says Cuddy, voice rising just a little. "I need to know whether to place Chase under a psychiatric hold."

"Why?" Cameron asks, keeping her voice carefully even. "Because he lost control of his car? Last time I checked, that wasn't indicative of a mental illness." As worried as she is about Chase's self destructive behavior, knowing how intensely private he's always been makes her certain that being here under suicide watch in front of everyone will only ruin him more completely. The only hope, she thinks, is to put herself in a position to help him, regardless of what he's said so far. It seems the perfect penance, even if she never gains so much as the beginning of his trust.

"Right," says Cuddy, obviously unconvinced. "Lost control. And that wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that he was under the influence of drugs and alcohol at the time. I saw the tox screen."

"Chase is being treated by a psychiatrist for anxiety." She's spent the better part of the night coming up with this story, aware that he will likely lose his medical license if the truth becomes general knowledge. "His medication was out of balance, and his judgment was clouded. He was drinking to try to self-medicate. Unfortunate, but not a cause for alarm now that we're aware of the situation and can get his dosages straightened out."

"You and I both know that story is ridiculous." Cuddy regards her with a steely gaze that says she's probably figured everything out for herself and is only looking for confirmation.

"No more ridiculous than the majority of our cases," Cameron counters.

Cuddy laughs humorlessly. "And at least half of those people are lying."

"You think I would lie? Put a patient in danger?" Cameron bluffs, too well aware that ten years ago, this is something she never would have even considered doing. Now it feels like second nature.

"I think you spent a long time working for House," says Cuddy, as though she's reading Cameron's mind. "And I think you're especially biased when it comes to Chase. I was hoping you'd take my warning seriously yesterday. Are you sleeping with him?"

"Chase is my employee," Cameron answers simply, then realizes her mistake. "Former employee."

"And are you sleeping with him?" Cuddy repeats.

Cameron bites her lip, feeling smothered by all the tension, too much pressure from every direction. She's building a complicated house of cards, and one false move will bring it all tumbling into disaster. "My relationship with Chase is completely professional."

"I could fire you," Cuddy threatens quietly. She doesn't need to yell; the words hold their own power. "I could close the department. I could make sure Chase loses his license and is involuntarily committed."

"And I could tell the Board exactly what all you let House get away with," Cameron answers icily, infuriated. She's wanted to view Cuddy as a friend and ally, but it's clear in moments like these just how impossible that truly is. "I have it all there in the files. I did the paperwork. I know better than anyone. Think they'd want to know about that?"

"If you can deal with Chase and keep the department running at its current efficiency, fine," Cuddy answers after another long silence. Something seems to have shifted in the air between them. "But understand you're gambling your career on this. It is not a game. And in my personal opinion, Chase is the last person anyone should be involved with right now."

"Then stay uninvolved," says Cameron, then turns and walks back into Chase's room without waiting for a response.

Glancing over at Chase, Cameron realizes that he's still facing the far wall, and she pauses to pull the blinds shut. He has his eyes closed when she gets back to the side of his bed, but there's too much tension in his body for him to be asleep.

"Hey," she says quietly, perching on the edge of the bed and wondering whether she's upset him with the things she's said to Cuddy.

"Why did you do that?" Chase asks, not opening his eyes.

"Because I know you're too stubborn to help yourself." Cameron smoothes a wrinkle out of the corner of the sheet. "And I want you to be okay."

Chase pushes himself up against the bed with a grimace, and Cameron scrambles to arrange the pillows behind him. He swallows visibly. "House died of liver failure. And my mum."

"I know," says Cameron intensely, heartbroken for him. "But it doesn't have to be like that for you. I promise."

"'s been a long time coming," he insists, sounding totally defeated.

Cameron sighs. "Come stay with me. At least for a few days. Let me try. Please. What do you have to lose?"

For several breaths he simply stares at her, eyes glassy with fear again. Then, trembling, he reaches out to lay a hand on her knee, squeezing lightly. "I don't want to die."

* * *

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	19. Chapter 19

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

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Chapter Nineteen

Chase wakes with a start, Dibala's ghost constricting his throat and pressing heavily on his chest. The panic swells when he opens his eyes and sees the ceiling; he's been dreaming about Dibala's hospital room, and his own is all but identical. His hand goes to his neck instinctively, though he's had this dream enough times to realize that it's nothing more concrete than his own guilt choking him.

It's been two days, but the pain is worse than ever, like a vise simultaneously crushing his head and foot. He sits up without realizing what he's doing, is reaching for the ever-present bottle on his nightstand before he remembers that he isn't at home. The absence of the alcohol burns hot in the pit of his stomach, as though it's been ripped from his grasp when it was never really there. It's the only thing that's been able to quell the panic even momentarily, and knowing that it has to be gone for good now frightens him more than any nightmare.

The prospect of dying—slowly, in a body gradually poisoning itself—scares him worse still.

Glancing around the room for any kind of distraction, he notices that Cameron is gone, not even her bag left behind to give some clue that she'll be back. He's been alone for the great majority of his life, is all too accustomed to people leaving, and yet it's still his greatest fear. Chase remembers suddenly her threat of moving away again in the morning, though that was two days ago now and as far as he can tell she's made no further gestures toward carrying it out.

But suddenly it feels as though the past few days, _months_ even, might have been the real dream, her return to Princeton nothing more than a wishful creation of his mind. Again he finds himself reaching for the bottle, its absence this time cutting a sharp swath of disappointment through him. It's the first day the cravings have outweighed the pain and the panic, but he knows this is just the beginning, and that it will only get worse. It's not the first time he's tried to stop drinking; he's gotten far enough in the past to have a taste of exactly what kind of hell is to come. Here, in this room, the echoes of the latest nightmare still fresh in his mind, Chase feels profoundly isolated, overwhelmingly alone with everything to come.

The sound of Cameron's shoes on the tile makes him jump, and he lets himself fall back against the bed, feeling crushed by the simultaneous weight of enormous relief and shame at her seeing him like this. It takes him a moment to find his breath, and with it comes frustration on the heels of panic. "Allison, what the hell?"

"What?" Cameron pauses on the far side of the bed, frowning, clearly not expecting this reaction from him. Her hair is wet, curling as it dries around her face, and she's wearing a red tanktop and jeans. Chase swallows, feeling as though it's been decades since he's seen her in anything besides work clothes.

"You disappeared," he answers brusquely, trying to keep his voice even.

"I was doing your discharge paperwork," says Cameron, with a tense little smile. She's obviously trying to defuse the tension between them. "And I brought you clothes. Figured you wouldn't want to walk out of here in a hospital gown."

"Can't exactly walk anywhere." Rationally, he knows that Cameron is not a bad person, is not to blame for the way his life has fallen apart. He knows he ought to believe that she'll be true to her word and see him through recovery, at least. And yet, he can't help thinking that she doesn't know the full horror of what's to come. Can't imagine her wanting to stay after bearing witness to it. They are nothing to each other now but a set of painful memories, he reminds himself for the hundredth time. Who is he to expect her acceptance when he was disgusted by his own mother's attempts at detoxing?

Cameron sighs. "Okay, _roll_ out of here. Whatever. I brought you clothes." Coming around to his side of the bed, she shifts her bag from her shoulder and sets it on the chair, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt he hasn't seen in several weeks.

"You did my laundry?" Chase asks, horrified. It's bad enough that she's seen the state of the condo's living room, let alone the rest. He can barely stand to see the place himself, at least without being drunk. It's like a graveyard, filled with rotting casualties of their marriage and a thousand rank secrets waiting to be uncovered.

"Well, I couldn't find anything clean, and I didn't think you'd enjoy staying at my apartment naked, so..." Cameron shrugs, handing him the clothes. "Do you need me to help you change?"

"You my nursemaid now? Thought you went to med school and everything. What a waste," Chase snaps, slipping out of the hospital gown and pulling the shirt over his head. It's easier if she hates him, less shameful if she is nothing but the enemy. Safer if she leaves on his terms, because of something he's done on purpose. No surprises. No room for another betrayal if there is no trust. The pants are harder, and it takes him several full minutes to figure out how to thread them over his cast, too aware of Cameron watching him. She doesn't move to help him, and he wants to be angry at her for that, but knows that he wouldn't let her if she tried. By the time he's finished, his injured foot is screaming fiery agony, and the thought of moving even into a wheelchair to leave the hospital is torture.

"Ready?" asks Cameron, sounding completely unfazed by watching his struggle to get dressed. "The hospital is going to loan you a wheelchair. Hopefully you'll be able to transition to crutches soon, but we have to make sure your balance is normal before that can happen."

"They're discharging me already?" Chase asks, focusing on what is actually happening here for the first time. He's agreed to stay with her, to accept her help in recovery, yet the thought of actually _doing_ it is still terrifying. He knows without question that he will be utterly at her mercy, powerless in the throes of his body's addictions. But there isn't a choice. She is the only one who understands the full complexity of his demons, and the other option is death. He finds himself much too afraid of Hell in the wake of his night spent trapped in the ruined car, though he's certain that makes him a coward.

Cameron's eyes fall slightly, betraying uncertainty. "I got you discharged."

"But the hospital didn't discharge me," says Chase, understanding immediately what her hesitation means. "You're signing me out AMA, aren't you?"

Cameron bites her lip, looking up at him again. "You think they'll let you stay out of mandatory rehab if you start to detox here? I can take care of you at home. I got the supplies."

She's absolutely right, he knows, and being more than generous besides. And yet it seems impossible to accept. "I know my being sick must be a huge turn-on for you. But I'm not your plaything."

"Robert," Cameron says sharply, and the sound of his name in her voice still has the power to choke back the words forming in his throat. "Do you trust me? _Medically_, do you trust me?"

"Medically," Chase affirms grudgingly, after a moment. "You personally—not a bit."

Cameron crosses her arms stubbornly. "Medically is all I need."

—

The car ride to Cameron's apartment seems at once interminable and entirely too short. Chase finds that sunlight burns his eyes, giving the sensation of needles projecting back into his head, stabbing with every slight movement. The vibration of the car is enough to send his injured foot into spasms of agony, though he has the sense that Cameron is trying to drive as carefully as possible.

He's been as far as Cameron's doorstep here, but never inside her new apartment, and finds himself unexpectedly filled with anxiety. The last time he was here, it was with the azalea, and the reckless fragile hope of something resembling a peace offering. He'd had some vague idea of helping her move that night, until he'd found Foreman already there, heard Cameron's true sentiments spoken aloud. A blessing in disguise, he tells himself now. Better to know in time to save himself risking even such a simple gesture. Watching Cameron fumble for her keys, he wonders what she did with the plant, whether she'd recognized it and chosen to save it.

The inside of the apartment is small and filled with the warmth of summer Chase has felt unable to find in his own life. The walls are painted pale yellow, and there's a large window in the living room, looking out over the complex's courtyard below. The room is spotless without feeling sterile, something he remembers from Cameron's old apartment in Princeton. He's always marveled at how full of light her spaces seem, and this is no exception.

There's an IV pole already set up next to the couch, Chase notices, along with pillows and blankets. He is simultaneously relieved and disappointed as she directs the wheelchair toward it, rather than into the bedroom. This is the most time he's spent alone with her in years, he realizes suddenly, and it's only the beginning. Being in her home now feels oddly and overwhelmingly intimate, though she's barely lived here a week, boxes still stacked against the far wall. He tries to avoid looking at them, too many memories stirring, of moving her things in with his, and then too quickly back out again.

"Are you okay staying out here for a while?" asks Cameron, sounding much less certain than she did at the hospital. She doesn't meet his eyes as she helps him onto the couch, and Chase is secretly grateful, unable to hide a grimace at the pain. "I don't have a guest room. You can have the bed if you want it, but I just thought—There's more light, and the television is out here if you wanted to watch it. I have a lot of DVDs now. That might be a good distraction from—everything."

"It's fine," Chase interrupts, feeling strange about listening to her ramble like this. It's uncomfortable, as though he's caught her in some private act.

Cameron nods and clears her throat, sitting on the couch beside him and slipping on a pair of gloves. "Give me your wrist." Not waiting for him to comply, she picks up a bag and begins setting out what he recognizes as IV insertion supplies. Her movements are more confident now, at-ease in the medicine of this thing.

"Are you absolutely certain that you want to do this?" Chase asks quietly, giving her his left arm. It's the question that's been eating at the back of his mind since she first made the offer; soon he'll be helpless, unable to do anything should she decide that helping him is too hard. "You've—you've never seen anyone detox."

"I've been working in emergency medicine for five years," says Cameron, swabbing his wrist and slipping the needle cleanly into a vein.

Chase hisses, though this pain is nothing in comparison to the waves still sweeping his head and foot. "Not the same. In the ER, you see the beginning, maybe. Only for a few hours. Then you get to send them on, let another department do the dirty work. It's different when it's someone you—"

"I'm not going to change my mind," says Cameron firmly, taping the IV line into place with her free hand. Standing, she attaches tubing, and then starts hanging bags from the pole, glancing down at him over her shoulder. "I need to know exactly what you've been taking. And how much you've been drinking. I don't care how bad it is. This isn't about me judging you. But you have to be honest, or I won't be able to help you."

"Adderall at work," says Chase flatly, playing with the loose end of the IV tape. "And Valium to sleep. The drinks—depend. A few in the morning, usually. At night—whatever it takes."

"For you to pass out, you mean?" asks Cameron, sitting again.

Chase nods, swallowing, and tries not to think about drinking now. It's been three days already, and the more lucid he becomes the closer he can feel himself coming to total desperation, the need for _something_ to slow his thoughts making his skin crawl. Even the short trip from the hospital to Cameron's apartment has left him utterly exhausted and in pain, resolve quickly dwindling.

"I can only give you minimal doses of morphine for the pain," says Cameron, wincing sympathetically. "Can't risk putting additional stress on your liver. I'm keeping you on a low dose of

Valium for now. Reduce the likelihood of seizures. And it should help with the withdrawal symptoms."

"And the rest—cold turkey?" Chase asks quietly, swallowing.

"I think that's best," says Cameron, not looking at him. Hesitating, she reaches out and takes his hand, and Chase is surprised to notice that she's shaking. "I know this is going to be hell for you. But the more quickly you can get clean, the more likely it is that your liver will be able to recover. And I want you to know that I'll do whatever possible to help you."

Leaning back against the couch, Chase watches the IV drip and tries to think about anything other than the bottles left behind in the condo. He doesn't pull his hand away.

* * *

Feedback is greatly appreciated!


	20. Chapter 20

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: I thought you guys might like to have this chapter a day early, since I suspect most of you have holiday things coming up later in the week. Chapter 21 will be posted on Sunday, as usual. Thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback and support for this fic; it is my inspiration when canon isn't. Happy holidays to everyone celebrating!

* * *

Chapter Twenty

The night passes in an eternal blur, leaving Cameron feeling at once exhausted and incredibly on edge. Chase is feverish and clearly in agony, unable to even drink a few sips of water without vomiting. Most of the time he's so incoherent that she can't even tell whether he's awake, in the throes of a nightmare, or actively hallucinating. By the time he finally falls into a fitful but consistent sleep, head unconsciously pillowed in her lap, Cameron finds herself filled with doubt over every decision she's made about helping him. It seems certain now that she can't handle this, medically or emotionally. She feels helpless in being unable to alleviate his pain, like in trying to save him, she's done nothing but subject him to her own unnecessary torment. She's all too aware that if this gets out of her control, if she's overestimated her own abilities, he could die. And so she sits awake all night watching him, terrified to fall asleep herself.

Cameron is almost surprised when the sun begins to rise again; it's started to seem to her as though they are trapped in perpetual darkness, utter exhaustion obscuring her sense of time. Chase has been calmer for the past while, quieter in sleep and noticeably less tense, though still flushed. Watching beads of sweat form on his brow in the early morning light, Cameron reaches instinctively to brush the damp hair from his skin.

Chase wakes with a gasp before her hand has even really made contact, pulling his entire body away from her almost violently. Cameron catches his shoulders before he can fall off the couch, but the sudden movement is enough to draw a cry of raw pain from his throat, and she winces sympathetically.

"What the hell are you doing?" he chokes, barely managing the words before leaning over and dry-heaving into the basin beside the couch.

"I didn't do anything," Cameron answers weakly, sitting back, afraid of making things worse.

Chase retches, coughing roughly, though there's nothing left but bile to come up. Watching, Cameron resists the urge to reach out and touch him again; it's the only thing she has left to offer, all of her medical knowledge and skill virtually useless in this instance. But he clearly doesn't want it, and that hurts worst of all, that even in his desperation he is able to reject her most basic comfort as worthless.

"You woke me up," Chase accuses, when he can speak again, slumping back heavily against the couch and hugging himself, shivering badly. Agitation and irritability are symptoms of withdrawal, Cameron knows, but they meld seamlessly with his deep-seated anger and bitterness so she can no longer tell chemical pain from genuine emotion. "First decent sleep I get and you have to go and ruin it. Told you not to touch me."

"No you didn't," Cameron answers stubbornly, and it's true, though he's made the general sentiment more than clear.

Chase snorts, then coughs again, wincing. "Should've known you'd make this all about you. Doesn't matter that you're putting me through hell, so long as you get to feel _good_ and _righteous_ about yourself. Would you like to put a leash on me? Then maybe I'll roll over like a good dog and let you pet my head some more."

"I liked you better when you were delirious last night," Cameron snaps, then feels instantly awful. He can't help how he's reacting, she tries to remind herself. And in a way she deserves it besides: If she had stayed with him three years ago, he wouldn't be going through this hell now. But the words are out, and she can't take them back. Begging his forgiveness will only incite more bitterness, she's certain.

"Right." Chase sits back as far as he can, obviously trying to get away from her but unable to physically stand up and leave. He's sweating badly, the hair around his face all but soaked, and there's an abject cruelty in his eyes she's never seen before. "You _like_ me helpless. I got that part. Allison Cameron, girl who loves sick people. Probably the only time you can get anyone to tolerate you."

"At least _I_ can get people to tolerate me sometimes," Cameron shoots back, forgetting herself again. He knows exactly how to strike at her, how to hit where it hurts the most. "_You_, on the other hand..."

"You're going to kill me," Chase interrupts, as though he's somehow managed to read the doubts in her mind.

Cameron catches her breath, forcing herself not to react, knowing all he wants is to break down her resolve. It's the classic pattern of an addict, yet it still unnerves her.

"It's too fast," Chase continues, shuddering once, hard. "You think you know what you're doing, but you don't. You don't know _anything_. So you worked in an ER for a few years? So what. All it's done is inflated your ego, and now I've got to suffer because of it."

"You _need_ this," Cameron insists, biting her lip and hoping against hope that he won't be able to read the uncertainty in her eyes. "You need to do this as quickly as possible if your liver is going to recover. I know what I'm doing. And I know it's hard, but you're going to get through this."

Chase laughs, sounding slightly hysterical. "What I _need_ is to do this slowly. At a reasonable pace. Everyone knows a slow step-down is more likely to be successful. You making me go cold turkey is just _torture_. Or maybe _that's_ your thing."

Cameron sighs. "If you think I'm going to fall for that, you really _have_ forgotten who I am."

"I've already been hallucinating," says Chase, though the clarity of the statement automatically makes Cameron doubt the truth of it. "Next comes convulsions. Seizures. Death. You think you'll be able to do anything about it? You're not God."

"No," says Cameron coolly. The fact that he is trying to use her doubts to manipulate her turns her fear to anger, confidence replacing her earlier hesitation. On his lips the words sound utterly ridiculous, and she realizes that he wouldn't be using this argument against her if there were anything rational about it. "I'm a doctor, and I am perfectly capable of doing something about it if you were to have a seizure. But that isn't going to happen, because I'm also capable of taking the necessary precautions to prevent it."

"You need to give me a drink," Chase answers, having reached this point at last. They've been headed here since he first woke up, since the middle of the night before, but he's finally run out of more subtle attempts at manipulation. "You can't force me to do this. I don't want to do it this way. Just give me one now, and I'll back off from there. I can do it slowly. Just—just not like this."

"No." Cameron crosses her arms, bracing herself for another round of verbal abuse.

"You have to!" Chase repeats, voice rising. He's clearly desperate now, every semblance of his usual tight self control erased by the power of addiction. "It doesn't have to be much. Something. Anything." Breathing hard, he takes hold of the IV with one hand and rips it out before Cameron can stop him. "Already tried to off myself once. If you don't—I'll try it again. Won't fuck it up this time."

Cameron flinches, hard, his words finally breaking through her mental defenses again. "I don't have anything," she answers firmly, grateful that it's the truth. "I got rid of it all. There is nothing alcoholic in this apartment, and if you think you'd be able to get off this couch and do anything about that, think again."

Chase's entire demeanor changes at this admission. His body seems to go slack as the anger leaves him, turning to despondent defeat, and he slumps into the corner of the couch, sobbing convulsively.

"Oh, god," Cameron whispers, horrified. She's never seen him like this, so entirely lost and hopeless. For a long time, all she wanted was to break all the way through the walls he's built around himself, to know what he's like when he isn't hiding anything. But now all she feels is immense sympathy, and overwhelming guilt for her role in inflicting this on him, though she knows she has no other good options.

Hesitantly she puts a hand on his back, uncertain after his earlier reaction to her touching his hair. Chase doesn't move this time, doesn't flinch away or even acknowledge her, just curls further into himself, still shaking. Blinking back tears of her own, Cameron leans forward and wraps her arms around him, though she's certain he'll find no comfort in it. It's like hugging stone; Chase is tense to the breaking point, muscles spasming under her touch. She can feel the heat of his fever radiating through his clothing.

"It's okay," Cameron whispers against his ear, the words coming instinctively, a soothing lie. Sometimes she thinks she's spent her entire life training in the care of miserable loved-ones, but she's never found herself in the position of feeling responsible for inflicting the pain to begin with. She isn't sure if he's even hearing her, but talking is the only thing she knows to do in moments like this, and so she continues. "I know that you hate me right now. And—you're not wrong. But I can get you through this."

"Fuck," he breathes, shuddering, but not pushing her away outright.

Gradually, Chase calms, falling exhaustedly further into the corner of the couch, cheek resting against the arm of it, perfectly quiet. He's still breathing raggedly, drenched in sweat, and Cameron can't help worrying about how high his temperature is getting. She knows the emotional strain of this is inevitable, but it's unquestionably making the physical damage to his body even worse.

"Let me help you get cleaned up?" Cameron suggests quietly, knowing he has to be ashamed, and trying to make this as impersonal as possible. This is the sort of thing that's part of her every day job, and yet Chase is right—it's different when it's someone she knows, someone she loves. She learned that fifteen years ago from her first husband, yet it still never ceases to surprise her. "And I need to give you a new IV, or you're going to feel a whole lot worse."

"No," Chase answers immediately, tensing again. But it's a different kind of refusal this time, not out of anger but humiliation. "I can—You shouldn't have to _bathe_ me. I'm not an invalid."

Cameron sighs. "We have to get your temperature down. And you're very vulnerable to infection right now. You can't just sit here covered in sweat. It's okay to need my help."

"It isn't," Chase insists stubbornly, a fervor in his voice that she doesn't quite know how to interpret.

Ignoring him, Cameron goes into the bathroom, collecting the supplies she's all too familiar with and bringing them out to the couch. Chase is curled up with his eyes closed, but she can tell from the tension in his face that he isn't asleep.

"Take your shirt off," she coaxes quietly, hoping he won't get confrontational again.

Chase stares at her in silence for a very long moment before sitting up with a groan and pulling his shirt over his head, obviously in pain. Everything about him seems resigned now, not relaxed, simply defeated. Kneeling behind him on the couch, Cameron rests her hand on his shoulder for a moment, as much for her own comfort as for anything else.

"You can't do this alone," she says quietly, wringing out the washcloth and laying it against the back of his neck. "You're going to have to trust someone, sometime, to help you. Might as well be me. I'm here now. You haven't scared me away yet."

Chase snorts softly. "Tried that on me before. Trusted you with it once. I'd rather be alone, thanks."

* * *

Reviews make excellent holiday gifts. ^_~


	21. Chapter 21

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: My playlist for this fic is now posted at my LJ and the link can be found in my profile here. Also, if you happened to miss the last chapter in the holiday rush last week, I suggest you read it before this one. Hope everyone had a great holiday!

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Chapter Twenty-One

A week passes in a haze of pain, misery, and panic, Dibala's face merging with the car crash in Chase's mind to form a whole new set of nightmare images and haunting flashbacks. The windshield shattering. The sounds of cardiac alarms. The metallic smell of blood. The sickly yellow tinge of House's eyes just before the end.

Day bleeds into night and then morning again, and he loses track of time, space, everything but the excruciating craving, the all-encompassing need for the feel of the bottle in his hand, the subtle burn of alcohol at the back of his throat. His thoughts seem to be moving much too fast without it, so that he can't make sense of anything. It's like falling headlong into an endless chasm, blind and oblivious but for the air rushing by on either side.

He's vaguely aware of Cameron's presence, sometimes silent and sometimes murmuring words of empty comfort that he can't quite follow. Sometimes she stays away—at the far end of the couch, or even across the room in the recliner—and others, when it's all he can do to squeeze her hands or lean against her shoulder, she is right there.

On the morning of what Chase's cell phone tells him is the eighth day since leaving the hospital, he wakes lucid enough to be aware both that the pain has quieted to a point where his thoughts once again make sense, and that Cameron is perched on the edge of the couch, looking down at him with concern.

"Hey," she says softly, reaching out to finger the sleeve of his t-shirt in a way that makes Chase fairly certain she's not aware of what she's doing. "How are you feeling?"

Chase swallows hard, momentarily unable to come up with any reply at all. Slowly, he attempts to take stock of his body. The pain in his injured foot has receded to a dull ache, and though his head feels much heavier than it ought to, it doesn't hurt anymore either. His skin is sticky with too many days of fever, the ache still present but the chills gone. The cravings are the only thing just as strong as before, screaming in his ear and eating away at his soul. But he's gotten good at enduring torment, and in the absence of everything else, manages to push them to the back of his mind for now.

"Sort of hungry," he manages at last, surprising himself.

Cameron smiles, and Chase notices suddenly that she already has a plate of toast and a mug of tea on the coffee table. "I was hoping you'd say that."

It takes considerable effort to sit up, and he lets Cameron help wordlessly, taking the plate when she offers it. The toast is completely dry, but it's the first real food he's been able to tolerate in days, and he exhales a breath of relief when the taste doesn't turn his stomach. Cameron is still watching him, he realizes, as he slowly finishes one piece and then some of the tea as well. He wants to thank her despite himself, to tell her that in the light of this morning, he's beginning to see some tiny, fragile shred of hope. But the past is still present, memory stretched between them so that the length of the couch might as well be the seven hundred miles from Princeton to Chicago, and words won't come.

"You look much better," says Cameron, and he can tell it's just to break the silence. She opens her mouth as if to say something further, but the doorbell rings.

Chase jumps instinctively, and can't think of anything to say. He feels immediately both vulnerable and ashamed of that reaction; the last thing he wants right now is for anyone he even vaguely knows to see him in this condition. His past has taught him the value of self control, of independence, of being able to do it all alone.

"That's Foreman," says Cameron, biting her lip like she knows this will be upsetting to Chase. "I didn't invite him over. He called to say he needs help with a case. I'm sorry. I still have to do my job, or Cuddy's going to close the department."

"Okay," says Chase, because there really isn't any other response.

"I'll be right back. If you need anything…" Cameron gets to her feet, then hesitates, looking back at him as though something terrible might happen if she leaves to answer the door. She's only half-dressed herself, Chase realizes, in sweats and a jogging top, and he wonders suddenly what's happened to her treadmill. It isn't in this new apartment.

"I'm fine," he says quickly, when the quiet between them has begun to shift into discomfort, and her face into worry. He takes a large bite of the second piece of toast to prove the point, though he's not really hungry anymore. As soon as Cameron is out of sight, he pulls the heaviest blanket from the pile over himself, wishing he could hide beneath it entirely.

"Hi," Cameron greets Foreman in the hallway, but there's a strange tension in her voice belying her attempt at casualness. When she speaks again it's muffled, indicating that they've stepped out into the hall. But she's left the door open, and Chase can still hear everything clearly, unsure whether to feel relieved or ironically betrayed that she's confirmed his shame at being seen. "You have a case?"

"_We_ have a case," corrects Foreman. "And we're not going to run a differential in the hall. Patient information is confidential."

"Chase is asleep," Cameron lies, sounding unconvincing even from a distance.

On the couch, Chase tenses, unsure why her excuse bothers him so much. He wants to tell himself that she's being considerate, that she understands he doesn't want anyone's pity right now, and that Foreman has never been good at offering comfort in personal matters anyway. And yet it feels like a slight, like she agrees with his utter self-loathing. He thinks he can't blame her, but it stings all the same, and he tears the toast into pieces just to do something with his hands, anger bubbling up in the pit of his stomach.

"So, we'll be quiet," says Foreman.

"It's a small apartment," Cameron hedges. "You were here when you helped me unpack. You know how sound carries."

"Then Chase can be awake for twenty minutes while we talk about the case," Foreman insists. "Maybe he could even help."

"I don't think that's a good idea." There's that oddness in Cameron's voice again, and Chase puts the plate down, frowning. He can't really disagree with her decision to have fired him, after the way he's treated her. But this has nothing to do with that, no watchful administrative eye here to know whether he's participating in the case. If she doesn't want him to take part now, it's because of her own opinion, her own distrust in his medical judgment. Suddenly he finds himself wondering if she's thought he was competent at all since being back, being in charge of the department. That seems a worse betrayal, somehow, than anything else she's said or done recently.

"Why not?" Foreman pushes, voice growing louder as he apparently moves closer to the doorway again. "You said he was doing better when I called."

"He was," says Cameron, sounding uncomfortable. "I mean, he is. I just—I don't think it's a good idea to push him right now."

"Allison." Foreman sighs audibly, so that even Chase can hear it from inside the living room. "It's a good thing that you're doing, helping him. But it's also stupid. He's an addict. He's a long-time addict. And he has no social support network. You're not doing him a favor, protecting him from the world. You keep him in a nice little bubble, and he'll start drinking again the second he leaves here. Let me talk to him. Let him work. He needs those things to get on with his life. And don't get too involved, either. You can try to save his life, but that's not going to get your marriage back."

What Cameron answers is inaudible, and Chase tenses further, pulling the blanket up again. He's grateful for what Foreman is saying, yet it's nothing short of humiliating that anyone is in a position to be having this kind of conversation about him. Moreover, Chase is fairly certain that Foreman is _right_, that he won't be able to abstain once he leaves the forced environment of Cameron's apartment. That revelation sends resentment churning hotly through his stomach, and suddenly he wants to hate them both. It's safer that way, less risky than letting them know they've read his weaknesses perfectly.

"I can hear you, you know!" Chase calls loudly, without giving himself time to think about that decision. Shoving all of the blankets off in a rush, he swings his legs over the side of the couch and sits up, ignoring the pain that shoots up his leg from his foot. "And I don't appreciate being treated like a child!"

Cameron practically slams the door, and then she and Foreman are in the living room before Chase has even realized exactly what he's said. He regrets it instantly, because really he isn't ready to work, isn't ready to be seen even by Foreman. But Cameron's words have broken something inside him, crushed some emotional dam, and now he can't stop the anger from spilling over into everything, growing more and more out of control.

"Well?" he snaps in their general direction, because it's easier to be rude than contrite. "Are you going to present the case?"

Foreman looks back and forth uneasily between the two of them, then clears his throat. "Fourteen-year-old female. Heart murmur noted by her pediatrician during an annual physical ordered by her school. No other current symptoms, and she is otherwise in good health. Medical history is insignificant, with the exception of a seven-day illness several months ago during which the patient experienced sore throat and very high fevers. She did not see a doctor at that time."

"Are you serious?" For a moment Chase can only gape at Foreman, trying to see another possibility beyond the obvious insult of this presentation. Cameron comes to sit next to him again on the couch, and he flinches away reflexively, wanting suddenly to have them both as far from himself as possible.

"Yeah?" Foreman's face is all condescension. "Pretty sure I drove over here to have you two help me with this case. Or maybe you'd rather I go back and tell Cuddy she actually _can_ close the department. Then we could play cards. Have family game night. It'd be fun."

"This isn't a case!" Chase explodes, not even trying to control himself anymore. They both obviously think he is incompetent, and regardless of his past behavior, it feels like the ultimate injury, the last straw in the utter destruction of his self-worth. "She had untreated strep and it damaged her heart. Refer her to Cardiology. What did you do, stick your hand into the ER filing cabinet and pick up the first chart you could grab? You didn't want our help with a differential. You wanted an excuse to come over here and gawk at me. Get out. I don't need your pity."

"Chase!" Cameron interrupts disapprovingly.

"Shut up!" Chase yells, rounding on her. The room is spinning and his head is pounding again, and it seems suddenly impossibly like he's lost everything again, unaware the hope even existed until it's been snuffed out. "Don't pretend you're better than him! I'm not your plaything! The only reason you're doing this is out of your sick _obsession_ with House! He's _dead_. Just because I remind you of him now doesn't mean you can save him by trying to help me!"

"I'm not dignifying that with a response," Cameron says coldly, then gets to her feet, turning back to Foreman. "This obviously isn't a good time. I'll walk you out."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	22. Chapter 22

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two

Afternoon turns to evening and then night in a tense hush, filled with too many memories. Wordlessly, Chase allows Cameron to move him into the bedroom for the first time since he's been at her apartment, not meeting her eyes as she adjusts the blankets and checks his IV lines. Truthfully she's relieved to close the bedroom door on him, if only for a while, without imminent fear of him dying, to take a shower and try to forget the things he's said.

It's hours later by the time she finds her way back to the couch, picks up the stack of blankets he's been using for the past week and starts yet another load of laundry. The azalea plant seems to be staring disapprovingly at her from the corner, and she tries her best not to notice it. Her thoughts are still at war, no matter how hard she tries to convince herself that his words don't matter, that he's simply speaking out of misery and physical pain. He is starting to get better, however slowly, and that is what ought to be important. And yet, the less afraid she is for his immediate survival, the more she finds his verbal barbs stinging again, regret for past mistakes occupying all of her now-free energy.

When it's entirely dark outside, all of the seemingly-endless laundry finished, dried, and folded, Cameron can think of nothing else to distract herself. The apartment feels strangely claustrophobic in its emptiness now that Chase is not on the couch any longer, and she finds herself listening periodically at the bedroom door for any sign that he might need or want her help. Meticulously, Cameron makes a fresh arrangement of blankets and pillows on the couch for herself, then gathers up his evening medications and slips into the bedroom, irrationally holding her breath.

Chase is lying on his side again, reminding her eerily of that night in the hospital. Rounding the side of the bed, Cameron forces herself to turn her attention first to the IV, hanging a fresh bag of fluids before looking down at his face. Chase is wide awake, she realizes with a silent shock, his eyes fixed on her and filled with panic. He's shaking badly again, though it's hardly noticeable, he's so buried in her comforter.

"Hey, what is it?" Cameron asks, frowning. Suddenly it seems stupid to have left him alone for such a long time, though she hasn't actually been out of immediate earshot for even a moment. Yet another mistake, another unintentional hurt born out of her attempts to help.

"Bad dream," Chase breathes, swallowing, and Cameron is surprised by the immediacy of his admission.

For a moment she is silent, trying desperately to find the right response, anything to say that won't upset him further. "Do you want me to sit with you for a while?" she asks finally, biting her lip.

Chase tenses slightly, hand curling into a fist around the edge of the blanket, and he looks away without moving his head.

"We don't have to talk about it," she continues quickly. "I just—thought some company might help." The words sound silly and useless in her own ears, and Cameron cringes inwardly. In moments like this, it's hard for her to remember how easy things used to be with him, how—before Dibala—they'd almost reached the point of sharing everything casually. When several breaths have passed and Chase still hasn't responded, she gets to her feet and walks around to her side of the bed, slipping in beside him and sitting up against the pillows, still keeping a safe foot of space between them.

"Why are you doing this?" Chase asks quietly, and she's almost surprised it isn't another accusation.

"I told you I want to help you," Cameron answers automatically, but that sounds cheap and insincere. Looking at him in the near-darkness, words start to come more easily, the places in her heart she's kept secure ready to be exposed, though she knows how big the risk is, especially after his earlier outburst. "I care. I know that doesn't change anything."

"I'm sorry," says Chase, voice barely audible, and muffled into the pillow. "What I said—I know it's not true. Just—wanted to hurt you because I was angry."

Cameron sits up further at this, feeling the need to hold onto something, and moving one of the extra pillows to rest in her lap. The pillowcase is edged in white lace, and she focuses her attention on that, fingers playing along the deceptive roughness of the delicate fabric. She isn't sure what to say in response to this; she's suspected as much, but now that Chase has actually made the admission, she isn't sure whether to believe him. She's fairly certain that, at least subconsciously, he _does_ distrust her motives for helping him, does assume like everyone else that even now, years later, her every action is still shaped by House's influence.

"It isn't true," she says finally, needing him to know it in no uncertain terms. The idea that he thinks she only cares out of a misguided affection for House's ghost is sickening to her, absolutely unbearable. "I know things aren't—the same. We're not the same. But you're still you. And I am not ashamed of you."

Chase frowns, pushing himself up against the head of the bed. Instinctively, Cameron leans over to help him, adjusting pillows to support his weight. He looks pale even in the near-total darkness, skin damp with sweat, and she presses her palm to his forehead, relieved to find it cooler than the past several days. Chase closes his eyes for a moment, and leans almost imperceptibly into her hand, surprising her.

"Then why not just let Foreman come in to start with?" he asks at last, breaking whatever spell the quiet has cast between them.

Cameron sits back, but stays facing him. "I didn't want to push you too hard too fast. And Foreman—"

"_You_ were trying to protect me?" Chase laughs, humorlessly.

"Is that such a bad thing?" asks Cameron, stung. Foreman's words have seemed to confirm her fears about his opinion of Chase, made her think her decision was more than justified. And yet, it still seems impossible for him to believe she doesn't have some other agenda.

"Didn't do a very good job, then," says Chase. His brow furrows, face hardening noticeably. "And I don't need you to protect me. From anything. I can take care of myself. God knows I've had enough practice."

"I'm sorry," Cameron breathes softly, wincing. The words are pure bitterness, but it's undercut by a deep sadness she recognizes from the days they were first considering a true relationship. As long as she's known him, Chase has had a near-unwavering belief that he's meant to live his life alone. There was a time when she wanted to be his savior, to contradict his lack of faith in his own future. The failure of their marriage seems ironically to have proven him right, and the knowledge that blame rests almost solely on her shoulders hurts all the worse.

"Doesn't matter," Chase says flatly. "And you're wrong. I'm not the man you married. I'm not who you want me to be. Might as well stop wasting your time."

"I don't think you get to make that decision," Cameron protests, immediately and honestly. "So you've changed. So have I."

Chase snorts, beginning to retreat behind the façade of defensiveness and sarcasm again. "You haven't changed. You've gotten a little older. A little more jaded. You'll still always be the girl who thinks she can save the world and heal all the sick puppies in it."

"You're a good person," Cameron insists, hurt by his accusations, but more heartbroken by his view of himself. "You deserve to get the help you need. To not have to be in this alone."

"I'm a murderer," says Chase coldly, looking her straight in the eye. Everything about him is completely resigned, devoid of self-pity, simply hopeless. "I _deserve_ to go to Hell. Anyone who knows that and claims to still want me is either lying or totally misguided. You left me before for what I did. You weren't wrong."

"I didn't think what you did was wrong!" Cameron sits up straight, then shifts to kneel across from him in the bed, breathless. "I never had a problem with _what_ you did! I left because of the way you handled it. Which I've admitted was a mistake! I know you're traumatized. I know you're still having nightmares and flashbacks. That's why you have to forgive yourself. It's the only way you can get better."

"What, _guilt_ is toxic to my liver now?" Chase asks stubbornly, obviously misunderstanding intentionally.

"Would you stop doing that?" Cameron snaps in exasperation.

Chase shrugs, unconvincingly. "Doing what?"

"You're deflecting because you're scared of this conversation." She crosses her arms, confidence growing when his eyes widen in surprise at her recognition. "You're afraid of the possibility that you might be able to get better. That someday you could maybe be happy. Because as long as you've got nothing left to lose, you can't get hurt worse." Cameron takes a breath, biting her lip. "I still know you better than anyone, Robert."

"Nothing to be afraid of," Chase says quietly, but his fingers are curled tightly around the edge of the comforter, betraying his sense of calm, and Cameron has to force herself to resist reaching out and taking his hand. "Told you, you're wrong. Nothing's going to change. Give it up, Allison. There's nothing you can do to convince me."

But there's a quiet desperation in his voice, devastating in its honesty. He believes these things unquestionably, Cameron is certain. And yet she thinks she can hear in the sound of his breath, feel in the weight of his gaze on her, that some small part of him is still waiting, a faith stronger than any he would ever openly acknowledge, hoping to be proven wrong yet. Words are what has gotten them into this mess, Cameron realizes, words without depth or truth. It'll take something more to break through, to free them both from ghosts. Propelled forward by raw emotion, almost entirely without thought, she leans over and kisses him, slowly, fingers curling into his hair. Chase makes a tiny strangled noise in the back of his throat, but doesn't push her away immediately, senses responding instinctively to her for one brief moment. Then he's scrambling backward on the bed, gasping as though he's woken in the throes of yet another nightmare, and Cameron sits back on her heels, shaken.

"Allison," Chase manages, sounding breathless. He puts a hand to his throat for a moment, swallowing with visible difficulty. "I can't."

"I know it's not that easy," Cameron interrupts, suddenly unable to bear the thought of giving up on this entirely. She's spent the past ten days distracting herself with careful distance, professionalism in the name of helping him recover physically. But he's stronger now, the imminent danger passed, and she finds she can't ignore the intense longing for what's been lost between them. "I don't expect to just pick up where we left off. But we're both different now, like you said. Maybe we could—"

"No," Chase interrupts firmly, not even letting her make her point. There is no resentment in his eyes now, nothing but the absolute haunted grief she's come to realize he tries so hard to hide from the rest of the world. "We can't. Whatever you were going to say, we can't."

"We could try," Cameron whispers, needing to say it though she's already too aware that this argument is futile. "I know we can't go back. But maybe we could—be friends, at least?"

"No," Chase repeats a third time, looking away now. "We can't be anything."

Cameron bites her lip until she tastes the metallic tang of blood, willing her voice to remain even. "Why?"

Chase is quiet for a long moment before looking at her again, jaw set with brutal honesty. "Because I've missed you. Because marrying you was everything I'd ever wanted. And you were my best friend. And then you left, and there was—nothing. So no, we can't try again, and we can't be friends. Not ever. You say that you're different, and maybe you are. It doesn't matter. I can't risk finding out. _You_ chose this when you asked for the divorce. Now you get to live with it."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated. ^_~ Wishing you all a happy new year!


	23. Chapter 23

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

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Chapter Twenty-Three

At the end of the second week, Cameron begins to leave the apartment in the afternoons. The first time, Chase is surprised; he's been well enough physically to get by more or less on his own since mid-week, but the cravings for alcohol are as strong as ever, worse now that he doesn't have a thousand other discomforts clamoring for attention. But he's still too immobile to do anything more than move the wheelchair to the bathroom and back, and even that takes gargantuan effort. Cameron seems to be aware of this, seeming almost unconcerned as she tells him something about a case which needs her approval—Chase isn't really paying attention to anything beyond the fact that she's leaving him alone—and disappears out the door with her keys in hand.

The days since their midnight conversation have passed in a sort of resigned hush; Cameron hasn't protested, or even broached the subject again as he's expected she might, and somehow that stings like another fresh loss. Chase is resolved in his decision, knows that he's told her only truth: Never again can they risk any kind of a relationship beyond one which is purely professional. He doesn't regret the fact that they've set this straight, and yet things between them _have_ changed. He notices it in the quiet that's fallen over the tiny apartment, the void left by the sudden absence of anger between them. In the way Cameron starts slipping him sideways glances as she changes his IV lines, and the morning he catches himself watching her comb her hair. Chase can't say whether this is anything like progress, or whether he wants it to be, the danger still far too great regardless of his wishes in moments of weakness. And still, now that the resentment has begun to subside, he finds himself impossibly grieving again, for the little things about her which are so familiar and which he knows he will never again truly get to share.

In Cameron's absence, the apartment feels paradoxically even smaller. She's left the wheelchair next to the bed and well within reach, but for a long while Chase can only stare at it, feeling overwhelmed. The thought occurs to him immediately that he could leave now, could get in the wheelchair and call a cab and be at the nearest bar or liquor store within minutes. And yet he knows that Cameron must have realized this too, must have calculated the risk and dismissed it. She didn't even leave him with a warning, and somehow that trust is enough to stop him contemplating physically running away.

Still, his resolve isn't strong enough to quell the thoughts entirely, and before a full hour has passed he's up and in the wheelchair, searching the kitchen first. Cameron has already told him there's nothing alcoholic in the apartment, and he believes her; she isn't stupid enough to have kept a bottle of wine under the delusion that he'll be able to resist temptation. Nothing obvious in the closets, and he moves into the bathroom, guilt over invading her privacy buried beneath the burning need for a drink.

At first he thinks she must have missed _something_; after all, it takes an addict to know exactly how many things will do in a pinch. But her years in the ER have evidently served her well, and at the end of another hour he's scoured the entire apartment for anything from rubbing alcohol to mouthwash, coming up exhausted, empty-handed, and in pain. When Cameron walks in, he's back in the bathroom after searching the medicine cabinet for a third time, too tired to get himself anywhere and enveloped in shame at the sound of her key in the lock.

"Find anything?" Cameron asks simply from the doorway.

Chase shakes his head miserably, unable to meet her eyes.

She nods once, then moves to push the wheelchair. "I'll help you back to bed."

Chase is unable to meet her eyes as he gets back into bed, collapsing exhaustedly against the pillows. Cameron is silent, disappearing and reappearing a moment later with water and a cup of pills. He swallows them gratefully; he's been off the IV for barely two days, and already misses the morphine, though that fact alone raises red flags in his mind. The last thing he needs is another addiction, and he knows better than to ask for the medication back. He tries his best to hide the increased pain from Cameron, though she seems to know anyway. Yet another frustration.

"You set me up," Chase says at last, breaking the silence. He's been thinking it the entire time, his humiliation growing. He can't say what's worse: Being caught in his moment of weakness, or realizing that she is utterly unsurprised by his behavior. At the very least, she's expected him to search her apartment, and has left him alone here anyway.

"What are you talking about?" Cameron frowns, but it isn't convincing. She knows exactly what he's implying, and her question is another attempt to avoid conflict. She's gotten unnervingly good at that lately.

"You left me here," says Chase. "You weren't gone long enough to do any real work. You left and you knew that I'd go looking. It was a test."

Cameron sighs. "It wasn't a test. I had a meeting with Cuddy. And I got you crutches from the hospital, so you can start working on having a bit more mobility." When Chase doesn't admit defeat, she continues. "You're right, I did know you'd go looking for alcohol in my apartment. But it wasn't a test. I knew you wouldn't find anything. And I knew you wouldn't try to leave."

"Then why'd you do it?" asks Chase, bristling. He has never coped well with humiliation.

"Because you needed to realize how addicted you still are," says Cameron, sounding far too calm for this conversation. "You've been through the worst part of physical withdrawal. The psychological part—That's going to be a lot harder. You need to confront it."

"Thought that was the point of being held prisoner in your apartment," says Chase through gritted teeth. The truth is she's succeeded; he's scared himself this afternoon in the intensity of the cravings, and his own inability to resist. He's engaged in what he knew from the start was an entirely futile search, somehow allowing his need to convince him that there was some potential profit to be had. Foreman's words from a week ago come echoing back in his mind, and he wonders for the millionth time how he'll have any hope at all of resisting once he's out on his own again.

"That's a good start," says Cameron, ignoring the bait. "Now you need to come back to the condo with me. Not permanently yet. Just to show me where you keep things stashed."

"You going to get rid of it all?" asks Chase, swallowing. That thought is at once terrifying and oddly freeing. He knows he won't have the strength to do it himself, maybe not ever. And Cameron is unquestionably the only person he trusts to enter the condo in its present state, he realizes with a shock. He's taken this for granted, refused to recognize it as reality because it is threatening, like all his emotions regarding her.

Cameron nods, looking as though she expects a fight. Her jaw is set firmly. "I know it's a big step. But you need to take it if you're going to get better."

"When?" Chase asks simply, silently admitting that for once she is completely right.

–

The first thing Chase notices about the condo is the smell. He's been living in it for such a long time, and has made so many attempts to block out reality, that he's never been aware of it before. The entire place reeks of stale alcohol, though he sees in the sunlight—it's been weeks since he's been here during the day—that Cameron has already cleaned up the glass from the night she hurt her foot. The floor in the front hallway is filthy, sticky with dark stains and footprints.

He remembers looking at apartments with Cameron, years ago, how she'd showed up one night with a stack of brochures from places in the area and suggested that they'd better hurry up before his lease had to be renewed. He'd been anxious then too, their relationship still just beginning to move beyond its first year of limbo. He hadn't been sure whether she was serious yet, whether they were really going to move in together or if the exercise of touring complexes was simply some kind of test. The condo had been the last place they'd looked, and it had seemed so serene, clean, full of light and shielded from doubts. They'd ended up signing a new lease that same day, despite Cameron's usual proclivity for careful planning.

"How many times have you been back here?" Chase asks, trying to keep his voice even. The smell ought to be repulsive, he knows, yet the need for a drink is stirring again at the reminder of how much possibility there is here, creeping up in the back of his throat like bile, making the hairs on his neck stand on end. The new crutches make his shoulders ache, and it's a welcome distraction now.

"Just once, when you were in the hospital," says Cameron, laying a hand against the center of his back like she can see the turmoil of emotions currently at war in his mind. Chase thinks about shrugging her off, but doesn't.

"You kept the spare key?" he asks instead, eager for something else to say. His gaze is already drawn to the living room again, to how threadbare and stained the couch has become. There's stuffing sticking out from the corner of the middle cushion, and Chase realizes he doesn't know how it got that way. The whole thing has become slightly dilapidated from his sleeping on it, stooped toward the center so that it twists his back in a funny way and leaves him sore in the morning. It's still not as torturous as the bedroom, their bed which for so many weeks had her scent lingering all over it.

For months he couldn't look at the living room without seeing again her back as she'd left, hearing the squeak of her suitcase's faulty wheel. Now he remembers DVD marathons on the couch, how many movies he'd found out Cameron had never seen. They had always started with Chinese takeout, wine, and the best intentions, and usually ended with sex on the couch and the movie playing forgotten. He's seen in Cameron's new apartment that she's bought many of the same DVDs for herself now, but hasn't dared bring it up.

"Robert," says Cameron, looking concerned, and he realizes she's been speaking for the past minute.

"Sorry, what?" Chase shakes his head, trying to focus.

"I asked where we should start," says Cameron. She still hasn't moved her hand.

"Bedroom," says Chase, thinking of the bottles on the nightstand. She's already taken the ones from the living room—his makeshift bedside when he sleeps on the couch—and he isn't ready to face showing her just how elaborately hidden most of his stash is. He's given up long ago on rationalizing his addiction; now it seems more like fate, an inevitability that he will fall victim to the same demons which killed his mother and his mentor.

He doesn't even think about the state of the bedroom until they are already standing in it. He can't remember the last time he even came into this room sober. It's still filled with a flood of memories—unpacking clothes into their first shared closet, drinking champagne naked in bed to celebrate their engagement, trying not to wake her after Dibala's death. Everything here is covered in a visible layer of dust and grime, the focal point of his life's collapse. He can see shock on Cameron's face, embarrassment on his behalf at witnessing these things. She makes her way quickly to the nightstand and picks up the three bottles which are still partly full, ignoring the multitude of empty ones for the moment.

"Is this it in here?" she asks, clearing her throat.

Chase nods, swallowing hard and trying not to look at the bottles in her hands. Were it not for the crutches, for his injured foot making movement so difficult, he thinks he wouldn't be able to stop himself from taking the bottles back, from trying to drink as much as possible before she could put a stop to it. He wonders sickly whether he would hurt her in the process. "I don't come in here much."

Cameron turns to leave, then pauses, reaching out to finger the edge of a pillowcase. "These are the sheets we had on the bed before I left." She sounds surprised.

"I know," Chase acknowledges quietly.

"I thought you would have changed them as soon as possible." She pulls the top sheet up into place, as though that might help make this filthy room look more presentable.

"Smelled like you," says Chase roughly, and doesn't offer a further explanation. He searches for the anger, the bitterness, any semblance of the defenses he's spent the past three years cultivating against her memory, but finds himself stripped utterly bare, unable to muster anything but a terrible sadness and the sting of humiliation. She's seen the truth of his current life; there's evidence all around. No point in denying it now.

"You—haven't changed them—at all?" Cameron bites her lip, looking suddenly like she might cry.

"I don't sleep in here anymore," says Chase tightly. It feels like standing in a tomb.

Cameron looks at him for a long moment, then nods definitively. She's made some sort of decision, though Chase can't say what it is. "Okay. I'm taking these bottles to the bathroom. I think you should come with me."

Chase follows with difficulty, feeling as though being in the bedroom with her has left him winded, diminished his resolve. He doesn't even think to warn Cameron, or try to stop her from entering the bathroom until she's already inside, has caught sight of the closet door hanging open a crack. Inside where the linens should be are shelves full of orange pill bottles, rows upon rows of them, enough to last years.

Setting the half-empty bottles of whiskey on the counter, Cameron takes a step closer to the closet, pulling the door open and inhaling audibly. Wordlessly, she reaches out and picks one of them up, examining its label, then does the same with several more.

"It says these were prescribed by House," she says after a moment.

Chase nods curtly, not saying anything.

"Foreman said you were seeing a psychiatrist," says Cameron, frowning.

"I was." Chase looks away again, unable to meet her eyes. He toys with the idea of lying, or flat-out refusing to tell her the truth. But he owes her an explanation, at least, after what she's done the past few weeks. And it will show her exactly why they can never risk a second attempt at anything. "Needed something for anxiety. To do my job. But he started asking too many questions. Wanted me to do therapy, and—I couldn't. Because—You know why. So I stopped. Stole House's pad, and—" He breaks off, unable to finish that sentence, gesturing toward the closet.

"Did he know?" asks Cameron. She doesn't say anything else.

"It's House," says Chase simply. Impossible still to speak of him in the past tense.

Replacing the pills on the shelf for the moment, Cameron turns back to the bottles on the counter. The look on her face when he dares to glance at her again is one of pained horror, badly concealed. Something in him breaks as he sees her eyes, and then it's as though he's moving involuntarily, one of the crutches falling to the ground with a clatter as his hand darts out to seize one of the bottles of whiskey. It feels as though everything stops in that instant, and he finds himself paralyzed in the act of choice. Every fiber of his being screams at him to down as much as possible before Cameron can step in and stop him. And yet he can't, because of the sheets, the stains on the couch, the memories all around him of distant light and laughter.

Sucking in a breath, Chase tips the bottle over the sink and watches its contents disappear down the drain.

* * *

Feedback is much appreciated!


	24. Chapter 24

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I apologize for not doing individual replies this time around; I'm really sick and behind this week, and I didn't have the time or energy to get this chapter up and reply to everyone. But know that I'm extremely grateful to all of you.

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Chapter Twenty-Four

Chase is still dying.

The lab results say it, the harried-looking resident in the clinic says it, and the resigned slump of Chase's shoulders as he sits in the passenger seat of Cameron's car all tell her the same thing. He's been through hell in the past month, but as far as his liver function is concerned, it's meant nothing. It's been thirty-four days since he's last had a drink. Cameron knows this because she's been keeping track, crossing out one agonizing square after another on the calendar in her bedroom.

His labs are exactly the same as on his admission to the hospital following the car crash, showing severely impaired liver function. He's still on a low but significant dose of Valium, she knows, which will have to be cut immediately. But the chances that that's what is preventing his liver from healing are monumentally small. It's far more likely that his years of alcohol and amphetamine abuse have done permanent damage.

Chase is quiet during the short car ride from the hospital back to Cameron's apartment, resigned and withdrawn in the same way he was in the hospital immediately after receiving the initial diagnosis. His expression is flat, artificially calm, but his eyes give away the plethora of emotions roiling just beneath the surface. Cameron parks on the street and makes it halfway up to her door before realizing that he isn't following.

Doubling back, she opens the passenger-side door of her car and studies him for a moment before speaking. "Need help?"

"No," says Chase. He doesn't make any move to get out of the car.

Cameron raises her eyebrows, unsure of what to say. She's used to him being stubborn, standoffish, even rude. But this impassivity stumps her in an entirely different way. "Was there—somewhere else you wanted to go?"

"No," Chase repeats, fingers playing with the frayed edge of the pad on one of his crutches.

"So...you're just going to sit here in the car, then." Cameron crosses her arms.

"Pretty much." He moves to shut the door again, but Cameron stops him with her hand on the edge of it. Chase continues to tug harder in response, and she nearly gets her fingers slammed in it before reestablishing her hold and yanking it open again.

"You're acting like a child," Cameron snaps, anger flaring. It's so much easier to focus on such a superficial emotion, the shallowness of this fight, than to admit the reality of what's actually going on. "I know that this is hard for you. I know you're scared right now. But don't take it out on me. Come inside and we can talk about it. Or—not talk about it. Whatever you want. Just get out of the car."

Staring her down the entire time, Chase slowly sets the crutches on the ground and hauls himself out of the car. His hands are shaking, Cameron notices, betraying his outward attitude of rebellious apathy. He sways dizzily for a moment before finding his balance with the crutches, and she wonders suddenly whether that's the real reason he's delayed getting out of the car.

It's painful watching his slow and unsteady progress up the walk to her door, but she doesn't dare try to help after his latest outburst. Shutting her out is clearly a defense mechanism, and the last thing she wants to do is take that away from him now. Instead she stands a few feet back, close enough to keep him from hurting himself, but still far enough away to avoid another fight. She waits until Chase collapses onto the couch, letting the crutches fall to the floor with a clatter, then silently moves to sit beside him.

"I'm going home," he says, neither looking at her nor giving her a chance to speak first.

"What are you talking about?" asks Cameron, though she knows exactly what he means, the anxiety beginning to overtake her again now that they are no longer in motion, no longer surrounded by distractions. Her tiny apartment feels too quiet, the thoughts racing through her mind ricocheting off the walls.

"I mean, I'm going home," Chase repeats, voice edged in sharp bitterness now. He slumps against the back of the couch and shoves shaking hands into his pockets, looking exhausted and defeated. "Back to my dump. Might as well rot along with everything there."

"You're giving up?" asks Cameron, feeling as though she can't breathe. Every piece of logic in her mind tells her no one would blame him for this. Not after what he's been through, not after the news he's just gotten. Not knowing that a continued fight will likely be in vain anyway. And yet, Cameron realizes, she's still been filled with so much stubborn hope that it feels like a rejection all over again: If he gives up on himself, it means that she is not good enough for him even to stay alive for. She's spent the past three years entirely out of contact with him, yet the thought of a life without even the tiniest possibility of future closeness seems inconceivable to her now.

Chase laughs, a frightening sound on the verge of outright hysterics. "There's nothing to give up on! I'm dying! It's done! Tried to off myself before. Guess I actually succeeded. Didn't even know it!"

"You don't get to just _give up_!" Cameron interrupts him, the words spilling out of her mouth before she's even had a chance to think about what she's saying. She's on her feet in an instant, voice rising as the fear finally takes over. "I don't care what you want to say, it's not just about you anymore! I've been through hell with you the past few weeks!"

"Fine," Chase snaps, crossing his arms tightly, jaw set. "If that's how you feel, do us both a favor. Get yourself a syringe full of morphine and finish the job right now!"

There is no response to that. No words come to Cameron, her throat so tight she feels like she can't even breathe. This is beyond her worst nightmare; never has she imagined he would reach the depth of misery to ask for someone else to end his life. And yet she's immediately certain that he's absolutely serious, speaking out of panic and fear, but still entirely sincere. She can see it in the glassy darkness of his eyes, and it takes the strength from her knees. Her legs feel like rubber and her vision blurs with tears as she stumbles to the couch and finally gives in to the impulse to touch him. Chase is stiff as she wraps her arms around him, perfectly still and silent, like if he doesn't move somehow this might not be real.

"I don't want you to die," is all she can manage, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice.

And then Chase breaks, sobbing convulsively into her hair and clutching at her shoulders as his whole body shakes. He's obviously terrified, and Cameron is instantly heartbroken at her own helplessness. For all of her medical training and years of experience, there's absolutely nothing she can do to make this better.

"Help me," Chase whispers roughly against her ear. "Please."

"How?" asks Cameron, hoping desperately that he'll have an answer.

"Distract me," he manages breathlessly. "I can't—think about this right now."

He looks up at her through tears, and Cameron understands the need instantly. Craning her neck, she covers his mouth with her own, surprised when he kisses back immediately and hungrily, hand coming up to tangle in her hair. With his other hand he pulls the hem of her shirt from her pants, and then begins fumbling with the buttons, still shaking too much to be successful. Cameron knows better than to think this will lead to any kind of a relationship; he's made it more than clear that can't happen, and today's news is all the more proof. Still she finds any chance at closeness irresistible, desperately needs to offer him any possible comfort now.

Leaning back, Cameron makes short work of the buttons on her blouse and shrugs out of it along with her bra, watching as Chase takes the opportunity to pull his own shirt over his head. He's lost even more weight over the past month, nearly skeletal now, and she has to force herself to stop thinking of the possibility that this could be the last time she ever gets to touch him. Giving him no time to change his mind, Cameron leans in again, trailing a line of kisses along the curve of his neck, watching goosebumps rise on his skin. The stench of stale alcohol is absent now, and she finds herself unexpectedly overwhelmed by how familiar his skin smells, the soft neediness of the noise he makes when she kisses the sensitive spot just behind his ear.

Chase rolls his head back against the couch, at the same time bringing one hand up to cup her breast, thumb circling her nipple lightly. His movements are tentative at first, but he remembers quickly exactly what she likes. Cameron bites back a moan, feeling almost guilty in her own pleasure when this is meant to comfort him.

"Good?" Chase asks. His face is still wet with tears, but his voice has dropped into the huskiness of desire.

Cameron nods, though it's rapidly becoming overwhelming, every sensation bringing with it a fresh wave of regret, a haunting rush of happy memories which now bring only grief. It's the first time he's asked, or even taken notice of her needs, she realizes, and suddenly can't swallow past the renewed tightness in her throat. She ducks her head to curl her tongue around his clavicle, partly for the opportunity to hide her face. She has the sudden fear that he'll see and recognize the desperate longing he's awakened in her, that she'll see the same thing reflected in his face. For all the weeks she's spent craving his affection, it seems the most painful possibility now. Finally she knows, understands, sees exactly why they can never take the risk of a second try. For a single moment she envies the anger and bitterness that seem to come reflexively to him; it's a formidable defense, a match for which she still hasn't been able to cultivate in herself.

Breathing hard, Chase reaches to unto her pants, and Cameron stands to step out of them. It takes him a moment to figure out how to balance his weight so that he can get his sweats down without putting pressure on his injured foot, but she knows better than to try to help. The second he's managed to succeed, Cameron straddles his lap and kisses him again. Chase's hands go instantly to her hips, erection pressing into her abdomen as she leans forward, and he groans into her mouth. Instinctively, he reaches to finger her clit, but Cameron catches his wrist, certain that kind of intimacy will destroy her entirely.

"What?" asks Chase, his breath coming raggedly.

Cameron shakes her head, having trouble finding her voice. "Not that." An echo of his words more than a month ago when she'd first tried to kiss him.

Avoiding his eyes, Cameron lets him guide her hips into position, biting her lip as she takes him inside of her. Chase cries out roughly, fingernails digging into her skin. When she looks at his face again there's a wildness to his expression that stirs a fresh wave of anxiety in her. She isn't afraid—has never been afraid of him, not even now when she's seen his dark side—but she senses that he's finally let go now, totally uninhibited as he was in the midst of withdrawal. She starts to move quickly, bracing her hands against his shoulders and tipping her head forward to graze her teeth along the hollow of his throat.

"Fuck," Chase breathes, and then he's sobbing again, burying his face in her neck so that the heat of his tears mixes with the sheen of sweat on her skin.

Cameron wraps her arms around him as she quickens her pace further still; there are no words for this, no way to verbally express the depths of what she feels for him. He is utterly broken, the dreams and the life they'd started to build years ago in a shambles all around, skeletons of regret they will never escape as long as they have anything to do with one another. And though she'd thought she'd mourned for everything already, she finds herself in tears as well, grief for this sharper than for the marriage taken from her by death.

Chase comes with a harsh cry, grasping her arms with a force that will leave bruises again, and she doesn't care. Then she's plunging headlong into her own climax, feeling torn in two by the dichotomy of simultaneous grief and euphoria. For a long while she's unaware of anything but the persistent crushing sense of loss, as though he's already died. When she can breathe again, she realizes that Chase has his arms around her and is watching her with an expression she can't read.

"Are you okay?" he asks, much calmer.

Scrambling to her feet, Cameron retrieves her clothes from the floor and holds them haphazardly in front of herself, feeling intensely vulnerable. She's misjudged her own emotional strength, she realizes. She's been playing with fire, and only now has she realized its true threat. The real risk is not that there is nothing left between them, but that there is still so much. Too much promise. Too much still to lose if given the chance.

"You're right," she says after a moment, clearing her throat and trying to be firm. "We can't—be anything. This can't happen again. Ever."

Chase simply nods, doesn't even flinch.

"I'll get you some blankets," says Cameron, feeling suddenly heartless. She's halfway to the bedroom before pausing and turning over her shoulder again. "And you're not going home until you're completely off the Valium."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	25. Chapter 25

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: Posting this chapter a day early since I'll be traveling all day tomorrow and won't have access until late.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five

The apartment is empty. Chase feels it as soon as he wakes up, before he's even opened his eyes. He's not entirely aware of what's awakened him this time; he's filled with anxiety as always, but the images have not persisted for once, leaving him in a void of faceless fear. It's been a week since his test results, since he's stopped taking Valium entirely. Withdrawal this time has been an entirely different experience. Instead of craving the drug directly, he feels its absence in the increased panic, the way the edges of his dreams seem to blur into his waking consciousness so that he's living in a nightmare world, never entirely sure of what's real.

He's in the bedroom—in Cameron's bed—with the door closed as has become their recent sleeping arrangement, but it's much later than he's accustomed to waking up. Sitting up, he tries to shake off the hold of the unremembered dream, but the apartment is too quiet, and the tendrils of fear linger at the back of his neck. Cameron has given him nothing but space over the past week, often staying as far away from him as possible in the apartment, and leaving him to his own devices unless he absolutely needs help. Now he senses immediately that she's farther away than the other side of the door, absent from the apartment entirely.

Chase sits up quickly, forced to pause for a second when the room swims around him and his head feels like it might not be attached to anything. The dizziness is an effect of withdrawal, he knows, reminds himself constantly, and yet it only adds tot he panic, to the sense that the entire world is reeling out of control, too fast for him to follow. Finding his balance at last, Chase retrieves the crutches from where they lean against the wall next to the bed, and hauls himself up. His head is pounding, but in comparison to the past few weeks, the pain is hardly noticeable. The living room is empty, as he's expected, and there's a note stuck to the refrigerator door: _gone to work. _No further explanation, no time at which to expect her home.

Swallowing a fresh wave of panic, Chase simply stares at it for a moment before pulling the paper down and crumpling it in his palm. Instantly the panic transforms into anger, and he throws the wadded-up note at the wall, watching it bounce off and roll a few feet on the tile floor. It isn't like Cameron to leave him alone without giving him plenty of warning first, and a lengthy apology besides. It's only been a little over a month since he's come to stay with her, but he realizes now that he's grown used to the routine, used to having her around despite all of his protests. She's been noticeably distant since his test results, since he allowed himself to be lost in sex, to show her too much. Something between them broke that day, he knows, some last semblance of their old relationship, or perhaps the fragile beginning of a new one. It's for the best, he keeps trying to remind himself, the only safe way. And yet now he misses her, more intensely somehow than when she was seven hundred miles away.

Suddenly Chase is certain that she's finally realized the full horror of what his life has become, has spent the past week in preparation for another departure. The note is a lie, he's sure, the knowledge burning itself through his mind like a red-hot poker, silencing the tiny voice of reason that tries to tell him this is all because of the Valium withdrawal. She's taken off again, isn't coming back, because he's let her grow too close to the evil that's taken up residence in his soul.

Adrenaline forcing him into blind motion, Chase makes his way around the kitchen, throwing open the refrigerator and then the cabinets, sweeping things off shelves with a clatter of destruction. His search is half in vain, for alcohol he already knows he won't find, and half in pursuit of some kind of proof, knowledge that she has to come back yet. From the kitchen he moves to the bedroom, knocking hangers out of the closet and yanking drawers from the dresser so that their contents spill onto the floor. Finally, when there is nothing left to do but stand and stare at the chaos and destruction he's created, his eye is drawn to a single item: Cameron's wedding ring, glinting in the sun streaming in through the window.

Unable to look at it, to be in this place any longer, Chase moves as quickly as he can out of the apartment, just barely remembering to grab his wallet and keys off the nightstand on his way. Cameron's new apartment is in the center of town, and it takes him no time at all to find his way into a liquor store, to hail a cab and blurt the first directions that come into his mind.

House is buried in the graveyard nearest the hospital. It's oddly fitting, though Chase is fairly certain his former boss would have wanted to be cremated. But House, stubborn to the end, never wrote a will, successfully alienated all living family members, and so ended up here. Chase has been here enough times in the weeks following House's burial that he can find the headstone instantly and makes his way straight to it with no trouble despite his injured foot. It's been raining on and off all day, and the grass is soggy, but Chase sinks down onto it, letting the crutches land haphazardly to either side. He's exhausted suddenly, and in pain, panic still churning his stomach.

He's bought two bottles of whiskey at the store, and there's no one else around in the graveyard to take notice. Opening the first, Chase swallows as much as he can immediately. It's like the first breath of air after drowning for a very long time, the burn against the back of his throat an immense relief. Everything else falls away, all logic, all the reasons why this is the exact last thing he ought to be doing. The alcohol quiets his thoughts, the voices of his demons, and for a while Chase forgets everything but how to drink it as quickly as possible. There is no future, no consequences, nothing—only his need and this moment.

"You were right," he tells the headstone, when the first bottle is gone. House never believed in the afterlife, he knows. But even now, even after all these years of disillusionment, Chase can't help believing that there might be a way for House to be listening, and he has no one else to talk to besides. "She was never gonna forgive me. Don't know why anyone would. Anyone sane, anyway."

There's no answer, of course, and Chase shifts to lean against the headstone, feeling suddenly and overwhelmingly sad. For a moment he toys with the second bottle, trying to open it, but his hands are shaking too much. Giving up, he watches the bottle roll a little ways on the grass, its contents splashing against its sides like they're trying to escape. He's filled with self-loathing, disgust for what his life has become, or perhaps was always destined to become, and hot tears sting his eyes before he can think to swallow them back down.

"What's it like, dying of liver failure?" he asks, just to speak the words aloud. They feel more real this way. "Guess I'll know soon enough now." Chase looks down at the empty bottle in his lap, and for a second contemplates smashing it against the stone. "Think you were right about the Vicodin too—speeding things along." He laughs bitterly, barely aware when the sound turns into a rough sob. "Should've known. You've always been right about everything."

"You're an idiot," says House, suddenly standing over him. "And those crutches have got nothing on my cane. Careful, people will start to call you a poser."

"You're dead," says Chase. He thinks he ought to be filled with fear, but it doesn't come.

"Of course I am," says House. "You're hallucinating."

"I'm not hallucinating," Chase insists. He's far too aware for that, barely even feeling the effects of the alcohol. In fact, it's the first time in weeks that everything has seemed perfectly clear, almost simple again.

House laughs. "You're talking to the dead. You're hallucinating. You're messed up from the Valium withdrawal, you just drank enough booze to practically kill yourself, and now you're half passed out and talking to a lump of stone because you've managed to systematically alienate every human being willing to help. It's pretty impressive, actually. Your misanthropy might outdo mine yet."

"Did you come here just to mock me?" asks Chase, though actually the sarcasm is strangely comforting. It's the first familiar emotion he's felt in weeks.

"I'm you," says House, spinning the cane in place on the ground so it makes a little hole in the waterlogged ground. "Your mind. You must _really_ hate yourself."

Chase flinches, unable to deny the truth of that statement.

"What are you doing here?" asks House. "Other than throwing yourself a pity party."

"She left," says Chase, swept by deja vu. "Couldn't be in that apartment."

House snorts. "Bullshit. You don't really believe that. She went to work just like her note said. You, on the other hand—You've been looking for every way possible to shut her out of your life, make sure you don't get emotionally invested ever again. Last week you let her get too close. So now you've given in to your drug-induced paranoia, and embraced every destructive impulse in the book to ensure your downward spiral succeeds."

"What am I s'posed to do?" Chase asks, feeling stripped bare again, utterly vulnerable.

"Go home. Face up to what you've done and hope to god that Cameron really is as generous and forgiving a person as you've always thought. Otherwise you'll be out on your ass, and you really will be dying alone." Turning, House tosses his cane in Chase's direction.

Groping to catch it, Chase finds himself grasping only air, and when he looks up again, there's no one in sight. Overhead the skies open up again, drenching him in cold rain. Dragging himself to his feet, Chase retrieves the crutches and makes his way out of the graveyard. With effort he manages to call another cab, but the address of Cameron's apartment seems strangled in his throat, and he mumbles directions to the condo instead. The journey up the stairs is torture, his head and foot pounding, stomach already threatening to rebel.

He makes it all the way into the living room before noticing Cameron sitting on the ruined couch, obviously waiting for him. Somehow she's known he would come here before he knew it himself. She's been crying, he realizes when he comes closer, catching sight of her eyes. He can't blame her, horrified by the memory of what he's done to her apartment.

"You're drunk," says Cameron flatly.

The empty bottle is sticking out of his jacket pocket, Chase realizes, the other one forgotten at the cemetery. He shrugs, not even attempting to deny the accusation.

"Any particular reason you felt the need to trash my apartment before going out and wrecking your liver some more?" She's angry, unquestionably, but there's something else in her voice, something he can't make sense of.

"You disappeared," says Chase; the words sound foolish now, even in his own ears. "I thought—"

"What, you thought I'd decided to move back to Chicago?" Cameron flies to her feet, clearly outraged. "That I just—left everything behind and told you a lie about where I was really going so you wouldn't follow me? My life is here now! My family won't even answer my calls since I decided to move back here! What are you going to do, punish me for the rest of my life for leaving you? I've admitted I made a mistake!"

Chase shrugs, unable to find anything to say in response to that.

"I was at the hospital getting tested to see if I could give you a piece of my liver," says Cameron, sounding near tears again. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to get your hopes up."

The words hit like a punch to the gut, an intense wave of nausea washing over him. That she would even consider doing such a monumental thing for him seems unfathomable, and he's horror-struck by his own behavior. For a long time he's silent, not knowing what to say, and incapable of speaking besides. "And?" asks Chase at last, unable to verbalize any other thought.

"And it doesn't matter." Cameron swallows visibly. "Turns out I'm pregnant. Can't donate anything to anyone." Not giving him a chance to respond, she picks up her keys and brushes past him, stopping by the front door to speak again. "I'm done trying to help when you'd rather kill yourself. If you get interested in turning things around, you know where to find me. Otherwise—As far as I'm concerned, you're in no position to even meet your child."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated! (And please don't kill me. I promise this fic is still about closure and healing. It's just never easy.)


	26. Chapter 26

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

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Chapter Twenty-Six

The next three days seem to be the longest stretch of time Cameron can remember passing in her life, which feels utterly ridiculous when she looks back at all that she's been through in comparison. But it seems now that her entire soul is wrapped up in this place, this life she's trying to rebuild, and in Chase's ability to heal.

She doesn't go back to the condo, doesn't call him or make any other attempt to reach out again, determined to make her ultimatum final. She's promised herself upon becoming aware of her pregnancy that she will have to put herself and her child's health first now; to do anything else would be unconscionable.

And yet it isn't that simple, though it feels like maybe it ought to be. Chase has laid waste to everything she's been trying to help him regain, in one single afternoon, and because of his lack of faith in her. Cameron wants to feel betrayed, wants to be angry at him, and yet those feelings don't last. Instead she remembers her own mistakes, her own inability to trust in his morals and conscience even when the signs should have been more than obvious. As she puts her apartment back together, she wonders whether she's overreacted, made yet another mistake leaving him alone in such bad condition. Addictions as strong as his are nearly impossible to conquer, she knows, and she would be naïve to expect that he would successfully recover on the first try, and with no episodes of relapse.

When a day has passed and there's no word from him, she wonders whether her anger has doomed him, whether her haste has led him to successful suicide or worse. She's sickened by guilt at those thoughts. Still, foremost in her mind is the baby, this impossible miracle she's carried unknowingly for the past month. This child she has imagined so many times, under different circumstances, and all but lost hope for completely. And so Cameron continues on with her life, goes to work, tells Foreman and Cuddy that nothing is wrong, nothing has changed. She doesn't tell them that she is pregnant, though she knows they are suspicious of her current relationship with Chase. They would regard this as a failure, a careless mistake on her part, and though she's forced to admit her personal life is unquestionably a mess, she can't stand to have anyone else judge.

On Monday night, three days since Cameron left him at the condo, she's sitting on her couch with a week's worth of paperwork when Chase shows up on her doorstep. He's leaning heavily on the crutches, dark circles under his eyes evident even in the dim hall light. But he's combed his hair and shaved, the two tiny cuts along his jaw betraying the image of confidence she realizes he's trying to project. He's wearing dress pants, and his shirt is not only clean but also ironed. Cameron finds herself at a loss for words.

"Can we talk about this?" Chase asks at last, when nearly a full minute has passed in silence.

Cameron crosses her arms and steps back to let him in, feeling suddenly chilled, though the air coming in from outside is filled with summer humidity. The summer is less than half finished and already they've reached record temperatures, making everything seem too slow and sticky with sweat. The bloated black clouds which have been looming on the horizon by day have finally burst, and a low growl of thunder rumbles in from outside. Chase makes his way over to the couch, moving slowly and with noticeable difficulty. Not meeting his gaze, Cameron closes the door behind him and goes to sit in the recliner on the other side of the room.

The lights in the apartment are off save for the tiny book lamp on the end table Cameron was using for paperwork, and the rain beating down outside makes it feel much later than it is. Balancing the crutches against the arm of the couch, Chase glances down at the two patient charts splayed open on the seat next to him, but doesn't comment.

"You wanted to talk?" Cameron asks, clearing her throat. It makes her oddly uncomfortable having him here now, and she isn't sure whether it's because she's still upset with him for wrecking her apartment, or angry at herself for thinking he could handle this. He's obviously not well at all, and for the first time she isn't sure she can stand to find out exactly how sick he's become.

"You're—pregnant," says Chase, tentatively, as though testing the words aloud for the first time. The tension in the air is almost unbearable. "And—It's mine?"

"No," Cameron snaps sarcastically, stung. "I just told you that to make you feel bad. Actually it's that other guy I've been sleeping with lately."

"I'm sorry," says Chase quietly, surprising her. "It's just—Hard to believe."

Cameron nods, biting her lip. She understands his defenses now: It would be so much easier, so much safer to simply lash out, shut him out of her life once and for all. But she can't do that when he's sitting here in front of her, so clearly trying to atone for his behavior. If she's honest with herself, she's never been able to stay angry with him, even when it's justified. That weakness was the reason moving to Chicago had seemed the only way to save herself before.

"I know," she says at last, sighing. "Everything lately seems kind of surreal."

"You cleaned everything up," Chase says abruptly, reaching up to finger the edge of the afghan that's draped over the back of the couch. His hands are shaking badly, Cameron notices, and his eyes look very far away, even now when he's obviously trying to initiate conversation. "The apartment, I mean."

"Yes," Cameron answers carefully, wondering whether he's testing her or if he's simply brought it up out of guilt.

"I should have helped," says Chase quietly, surprising her again. He tugs on the edge of the afghan, pulling it closer to himself but not all the way into his lap. Cameron wonders whether he's aware of what he's doing, or simply moving out of nervous energy.

"I wouldn't have let you," she admits.

Chase flinches almost imperceptibly, then nods. He's silent for another long moment, and Cameron has the peculiar feeling that they are both struggling with how to analyze this situation, how to capture it and put it into words. Everything seems too convoluted, impossible to make logical sense of. Their relationship is ironically more of a wreck than ever, Cameron's job is still tenuous at best, and Chase's health is not improving. Yet somehow, against all likelihood, they've landed in perhaps the one situation which seems to transcend all of that. Cameron hasn't believed in fate for a very long time, and though she's not sure that's exactly what is in question now, she feels disoriented, unsure of how to regard this turn of events.

"Are we going to talk or not?" Cameron asks at last. She's starting to get a headache, and she presses two fingers to her temples.

"You've always wanted children," says Chase. It feels odd hearing it spoken aloud; Cameron hasn't dared tell very many people in her life. It's always seemed backwards to her that career success has come relatively easily, when her personal life is constantly in shambles.

"Your point?" asks Cameron, more sharply than she's intended. Chase is obviously trying to keep this civil, and he hasn't really done anything to incite her frustration, yet she feels incapable of simply staying calm.

"Before, we were planning—" He breaks off, unable to finish that thought. His hands are shaking again, and he clasps them tightly in his lap, knuckles white. "You—even kept your first husband's sperm in case—Did you ever try to use it?"

"No." Cameron looks away from him, focusing on the rain outside. "I had it destroyed when I moved back to Chicago. I didn't—want to do it alone. Not after—everything."

Chase sucks in a breath, wincing. The conversation seems to be physically hurting him; she can see that his face is flushed and glistening with sweat. "And now?"

"And now—what?" Cameron presses.

"Do you want to do it alone now?" Chase tugs on the corner of the afghan again and it comes down in a heap, blowing a few papers onto the floor. Grimacing, he leans over to retrieve them.

"What are you asking?" Every word seems suddenly vital, as though this is an exchange of riddles rather than a conversation. Nothing between them is simple anymore, hasn't been for years, really. The stakes have never seemed so high to Cameron.

"Do you want to have this baby?" Chase balls the afghan up in his lap, squeezing it between shaking hands. "If I die, can you do this alone?"

"You're not going to die," Cameron answers forcefully, realizing how stupid those words sound the instant they're out of her mouth. She's been in denial, for all of her worrying, anger, attempted apathy. Even now, when she has every reason in the world to shut him out of her life and simply move on, the reality that he is dying terrifies her.

"Allison," Chase says firmly, his voice edged with resignation. "You know my history. I'm going to be an addict until it kills me. Which—if you believe those test results—isn't far away. Chances are I'll spend the first few months of my child's life dying in the hospital. Or—it might not even be that long."

Taking a breath, Cameron gets to her feet, feeling suddenly as though the room is too large to speak honestly across. There's something oddly intimate about this conversation, as though they are seeing each other truly for the first time in years, casting off the armor and excuses they've both been hiding behind. Moving the stack of papers to the coffee table, Cameron sits on the sofa beside him, drawing her feet up under herself so she can face him.

"Yes," she says at last, resolved. "Yes, I want to do this. I'm _going_ to have this baby, with or without you. So—I guess the real question is—What are you going to do?"

Letting go of the afghan, Chase reaches as though to take her hand, but hesitates and lets it fall back into his lap. "I—I don't know that I can make you any promises right now. Think I'd be an idiot to try. Part of me thinks I shouldn't even be involved, that I should just—Tell you to get as far away from me as you can and start your life over. But—My whole life, all I ever wanted was to have a family. And I don't _ever_ want to be my father."

"Then—What are you saying?" asks Cameron, feeling suddenly afraid to breathe, as though the air between them is charged somehow.

"I'm saying—Any way I look at it, I can't afford not to do this." Chase looks down at his hands again, then back up shyly. "And I can't—imagine doing this and not at least being friends with you, even if that's all it can ever be. So—If you're still willing—I'd like to try."

Offering him the ghost of a smile, Cameron reaches out and lays her palm against his forehead; she already knows her answer, but there seem to be no words for it. Chase is badly feverish, she realizes with a shock as her hand comes into contact with his skin. He flinches, gritting his teeth, and she wonders for the first time how much pain he's trying to keep hidden from her.

"When was the last time you had a drink?" she asks quietly, trying to keep it from sounding like an accusation.

"Friday," Chase manages, shuddering and hugging himself. "Before I saw you. Haven't—really eaten since then either."

"Oh, god," Cameron breathes, at once horrified and filled with a strange new hope. He's taken it upon himself to go through withdrawal this time, hasn't even asked for her help despite the torment that's cost him. She's already had more than enough proof of his intentions, but there is no question left in her mind now.

"I'm fine," Chase insists, not convincingly at all.

"Lie down," Cameron answers, ignoring him. "I'll get you something right now. Soup?"

Chase nods, not attempting to protest again, but he stops her with a hand on her wrist as she turns to move into the kitchen. "Wait."

"What?"

Sitting up a little straighter, Chase moves his hand down her wrist until he can lace their fingers, squeezing once, lightly. "I just—Thank you. You've done so much the past few weeks, and I haven't been able to—You have no idea what it means." Leaning forward, he brushes his lips against her cheek before letting go and curling up in the corner of her couch.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	27. Chapter 27

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The pictures of the car are horrifying. The front is smashed in, sharp-edged metal which once was the hood embracing the tree trunk, glass showered all over the ground like icicles. Chase isn't sure how long Cameron has had them; it's been nearly six weeks since the crash now, but he's only just seen them the previous night. He's been too sick to even realize just how many things she's taken care of for him, exactly how he's arrived at this moment, with his things neatly folded into boxes, in the back of the rental car she's picked up for him.

It's only been a day since he exchanged the heavy cast and crutches for a walking boot, and he feels strangely too light as he folds himself into the car, allows himself to become enveloped in its artificial leather scent. Over the past three years, he's become accustomed to seeing the world through a haze, lost track of exactly how badly the alcohol and the drugs have distorted his perceptions of everything. Only now is he beginning to realize, and it seems as though it might take a lifetime to learn to see things clearly again. Time he likely doesn't have. From the moment he first met Cameron, he's felt her unconscious gift is bringing light into spaces. Now, somehow, he feels as though it's beginning to come into his own life. Still hard to believe that it's not too little, too late.

Taking a breath, Chase turns the key in the ignition of his rental car, glancing at the rearview mirror and trying to focus on the boxes of his clothes in the backseat. The images of his ruined car are close in the back of his mind now, and his heart pounds as he steers the rental down the street to where Cameron is waiting to lead in her own car. In truth he's not convinced that he's ready to return to the condo, to live on his own again. It feels like another separation somehow, another loss, though Cameron has already assured him at least ten times that she'll be available if he needs any help.

Things have become increasingly awkward with her in the week since he returned to her apartment. They've reached an unspoken if shaky truce, but the stronger he's gotten, the harder it's become to be around her, no longer able to pretend that this is only an arrangement of necessity. Cameron's apartment is small; she has only one bedroom, and he's still unable to accept the risk of admitting he actually wants to stay with her for reasons beyond his health. And so he's agreed to move his things back to the condo today, to let her help him clean away three years of filth. The drive is uneventful and feels too short.

Chase is filled with a second burst of adrenaline as they approach the condo's door, and he has the feeling that he doesn't know what he's about to find on the other side, though he's lived here for the better part of the past four years. He fumbles with his keys and drops them twice before managing to successfully turn the lock, but Cameron doesn't move to help, seeming to know this is a step he needs to take on his own. Inside he's struck immediately by the smell again, but this time it's of decay. The entire inside of the condo smells vaguely like dead things. Stepping into the kitchen, Chase realizes he hasn't taken out the trash in as long as he can remember, and he's instantly concerned for Cameron's safety coming into this environment, a thought that wouldn't even have occurred to him a month before.

"Maybe you shouldn't—" he starts, but she's already pushing past him and shaking her head, as though she's anticipated this response.

"I'm not an invalid all of a sudden just because I'm pregnant," she says calmly.

Chase sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets, unable to look at her and face the humiliation of this place. "It's filthy. You know that. We might as well be standing in a dump."

"Which is why we're going to clean it," Cameron insists, looking around with the analytical gaze Chase remembers from searching patient homes with her so many times in the past. "And, luckily for you, working in hospitals half my life has given me excellent tolerance for disgusting things."

"You're not—the smell doesn't make you sick?" Chase lunges for the trash bag, feeling off-balance as he ties it closed and pulls it from the can. His left leg is still weak from lack of use, but letting Cameron see that only adds to his shame. As he lifts the bag out, the bottom of the trashcan is revealed, and he catches sight of three wriggling exposed maggots trying to crawl their way up the sides. Gagging, Chase stumbles back reflexively, horrified at himself.

"What?" asks Cameron, stepping up to take his place at the side of the can before he can stop her.

Chase can't even respond, can only cover his face with one hand and wish that this were a nightmare. He's spent such a long time that denying the reality of his existence that he's actually managed to stop noticing the filth, and now in the light of day it's shocking.

"Oh," says Cameron, unfazed. She picks up the trash bag and plops it heavily back down into the bottom of the can, then lifts the whole thing, shrugging. "That happens if food trash is left too long. Natural decomposition of things. At least this time they're not in someone's infected leg wound."

"Right," Chase blurts, still unable to look at her.

"I'll be right back," she says, and takes off toward the dumpster at the end of the outside hall with the whole mess in her arms.

Left alone in the condo, Chase looks around slowly. The kitchen is mostly empty, has been for months, though he's certain there are still fresh horrors waiting to be discovered in the refrigerator. Unable to face those at the moment, he takes a few careful steps into the living room, taking the time in Cameron's absence to finally see all the details. The things still here from their living together are largely in the same places; he hasn't been able to find the resolve to actually get rid of or move them, and instead they've fallen into decay or mixed in with the detritus. The plants are all dead, save for the azalea now in Cameron's apartment, which has stayed alive despite—or perhaps because of—his habit of dumping the ends of beer cans on it.

Cameron's scented candles are all burned down, fingers of wax reaching out from the bases though Chase doesn't remember having lit them. When he turns on the television, he's half shocked to find that it still works, though his attention remains on it for only a moment before being drawn upward to the display of wedding photos which used to overlook the room from the shelf above. They are all facedown now, a few stray shards from where frames have cracked covered in dust and cobwebs. This he does remember doing, can still recall the way it felt to have the photos staring at him with Cameron barely out the door. In his mind he can still hear the sounds they made when they fell.

Tearing himself away, Chase makes his way over to the window. He has to fight with it for a moment to get it unstuck, but it gives way after a few tries, startling a spider which scuttles away over the sill. The flowers in Cameron's window boxes are all dead, but somehow the sprouts of weeds have taken up residence, even feet up from the ground. The summer rains have given birth to a multitude of seedlings.

"Should we start in the bedroom?" asks Cameron from behind, startling him. He hasn't heard her come back into the room.

"I—sure." Chase shrugs, stepping back from the window and attempting to look unaffected. It's one thing he never did manage to learn from House, has never mastered the art of hiding his misery entirely in anger and sarcasm. For a moment he wishes they could simply abandon this place, could close the door on it forever and start over again in Cameron's apartment with its buttercup walls and scent of freshly washed laundry. The fact that this thought has even occurred to Chase frightens him, and he shakes himself, following her toward the bedroom.

"Can I please change these sheets?" asks Cameron, fingering the edge of one again. She opens her mouth as if to say something further, then closes it.

Chase nods curtly, hating that she knows the truth of this room, of his weaknesses.

"You're still not going to sleep in here, are you," says Cameron quietly, as she begins stripping the bed. It isn't a question.

"Probably not," Chase admits, looking away. The truth is that things are not better between them, cannot ever be fully healed, and even the closest of friendships would pale in comparison to the ghosts of things they once shared in this room.

Unable to focus on her response, Chase steps away, grabbing the cobweb-covered laundry basket from the corner of the room and heaping things into it from the floor. He's been doing laundry haphazardly for years, grabbing clothes without really looking at them, and some of the things here he's forgotten he ever owned. Among the mix are brightly colored ties, the gray suit jacket he hasn't worn since the wedding. A tanktop of Cameron's, and a pair of her panties, edged in lace.

He pauses when he comes to the pants he wore to work the day before the car crash; he'd slept in here that night out of a sense of masochism. Picking up the jeans, Chase inhales in surprise when his wedding ring tumbles out of the pocket and rolls across the wood floor to spin at Cameron's feet for a few seconds before falling over onto its side. He'd almost managed to forget getting it out again in the weeks since she returned to Princeton, carrying it around like his own personal scar, a constant reminder of things lost. He hadn't been able to explain it then, except that he'd been drawn to it, a new brand of self-torture.

Cameron bends and picks it up, holding it out to drop wordlessly into his palm. Her eyes tell him she's already guessed what it means to have found it like this, that he's revisited it recently. He wonders for a moment whether she knows how much having her back in any sense has made him freshly miss being with her, wonders if she's felt the same. Then he thinks about the future, about the child he's scarcely dared hope for, and the injustice of the likelihood that he will die before the baby is even born. He's gambled too much on hope in the past, allowed himself to believe in fate and dreams even after seeing that same belief destroy his mother.

"Do you want me to take that?" Cameron asks at last, reaching for the laundry basket, as though she knows there's something in this moment that needs to be broken, stopped before it grows too strong and threatens to overtake them both.

"Oh. Yeah." Chase sets the basket on the edge of the bed instead of passing it off to her directly, and clears his throat, trying to shake himself out of his thoughts and back into the present moment.

When Cameron has left the room, he turns toward the closet, which has remained divided, her side empty save for the garment bag which still houses her wedding gown, shoved as far over into the corner as possible. Chase isn't sure how it's happened, but the dress never made its way into any of her boxes, staying here to haunt him like the gauzy white embodiment of her ghost. Taking a breath, he seizes the hanger and pulls it from the closet, draping it over the bare mattress. Then, turning his back on it quickly, he moves to the closet again and grabs a handful of his own clothes, moving them over onto the empty side, repeating the motion until everything is spread out across the full length. He doesn't have much that's both clean and on hangers, and the clothes are spaced so widely apart as to make the whole area look almost pitifully empty. Still, it's a step, and Chase feels a moment of satisfaction, a piece of his armor back in place. When he turns around again, Cameron is standing in the doorway watching him.

"I was wondering what happened to that," she says unconvincingly, gesturing to the dress. There is no way she doesn't know that she's left it here all this time. If she's truly surprised at all, it is only at the fact that he's kept the gown.

"Take it back with you," says Chase. His work in the closet has emboldened him, filled him with a strange sense of defiance, anger at the existence he's lived for the past three years.

"Okay." Cameron doesn't move to take the dress.

"And the pictures," Chase pushes on, letting a hint of resentment fuel his words again, and reveling in its renewed strength. "The ones above the television. I don't want them."

"Are you sure?" asks Cameron, sounding hurt, though unsurprised.

"I want all of this—_stuff_—out of my life," he answers resolutely. "I'm not gonna spend the last few months of my life staring at it and feeling sorry for myself."

"I think that's good," says Cameron after a moment, though she sounds like she might cry. "I'm not actually going anywhere, you know. You have a car now. My apartment is less than ten minutes away. You can always call me or come over if you need anything. Or just—want to."

"I don't need anything," Chase snaps reflexively, then regrets it immediately.

Cameron flinches, but doesn't react otherwise. "I'm going to go clean the kitchen now."

She's almost out of the bedroom when Chase thinks to stop her. "Wait. There is—one thing."

"What?" asks Cameron over her shoulder.

Chase swallows, forcing himself to continue with the thought. "I want to go back to work. At least—for as long as I can. I thought—maybe you could help with that."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	28. Chapter 28

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

_**NOTES: I know some of you have said that you're starting to get concerned about how this fic will end. Trust me when I say it's not even close to over. I think it's still less than halfway finished, actually. I have had the entire plot mapped out since before I started posting in a document that's now nearly forty pages. So please believe me that a ton of thought has gone into this, and I'm not out to break hearts or make readers miserable. On the other hand, as I've said before, growth and healing are both painful, and if I didn't stay true to that, I don't think this story would be very satisfying. I promise if you stick with me, you won't regret it. Thank you so much for all of your feedback and support thus far. It really means the world.**_

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight

It's still dark out when Cameron makes her way up the stairs to the condo again, though the balmy mid-July air makes it feel much more like late night than the early morning it is in reality. It's been nearly a week since she last saw the interior of the condo, left it both clean and strangely empty, feeling more like a condemned space than home to a fresh start. She takes a breath, and bites her lip as she knocks, afraid of what she'll find though Chase sounded fine on the phone last night.

He takes a moment to answer the door, and when he does, he looks half asleep, still in pajamas and hair tousled wildly. For a second all Cameron can think about is what it was like waking up next to him, how much he always hated to get up for work, complaining good-naturedly about her habit of rising early to go running before her shift.

"You're not dressed yet?" Cameron steps past him, locking the door behind her and offering him the takeout cup of tea she's picked up on her way. It feels strange now to have gone nearly a week without seeing him, oddly formal. She's gone out of her way to make him feel as comfortable as possible, and now finds herself second-guessing that decision, wondering whether he'll resent her attempts at kindness. Chase has always resisted help from others, reluctant to admit even to having needs.

"Is it eight already?" Chase takes the cup from her awkwardly, looking disoriented.

"Almost," says Cameron, crossing her arms now that her hands are empty. "I'm a little early. I thought you might want to—talk first? Cuddy isn't expecting us until nine."

"Guess I'm not late yet, then." Chase clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair, still looking unsettled. "Sorry. Had—weird dreams. Guess I fell asleep on the couch after."

There's a nest of blankets and pillows on the couch, and Cameron thinks it's far more likely that he's been sleeping out here all along. But a quick glance around the condo reveals no sign of beer cans or other bottles, and he seems more groggy than hungover for once. She decides not to question him. This meeting with Cuddy is almost solely for him to prove himself fit to work, and if he's willing to jeopardize that, she isn't going to put in any effort to try and stop him.

"Are you going to get dressed?" she asks, when Chase still hasn't moved. He's staring at the steam rising from the cup of tea as though it might hold some very important information. He looks tense, she thinks, but his hands are steady.

Chase nods curtly, then sets the cup down on the counter and heads toward the bedroom. Cameron follows him out of habit, noticing that the mattress is still bare, though now the bed is covered in stacks of folded laundry. Progress, however small. She perches on the edge of it and watches him select pants and a shirt.

"Do you want me to iron anything?" she offers lamely. In all their time together, she has never seen him actively iron any article of clothing. He doesn't seem aware that the concept exists.

"I don't need you to mother me," Chase snaps, throwing the clothes he's selected onto the bed beside her. He takes a breath, visibly trying to calm himself, then reaches blindly into the closet and pulls out an orange-striped tie.

"Wear the blue one," Cameron suggests, hoping she isn't about to push him into true anger. The last time they met with Cuddy together it was on the disastrous day of his firing. If he's serious about returning to work, Cameron knows they can't allow personal quarrels to jeopardize this meeting. "It looks more professional."

Wordlessly Chase exchanges the ties, then strips down to his boxers with an air of defiance which seems to say he doesn't care that she's watching. Cameron wonders for a moment whether she ought to offer to leave, but that seems ridiculous when she's just spent the past month taking care of him.

"Are you sure this is really what you want?" she asks instead.

Chase pauses to look at her, halfway through buttoning his shirt. "What, because I'm dying, you mean?"

Cameron nods, unable to meet his eyes. It's still a reality she's reluctant to face, even after so many years of loss. "You really want to spend that time working? You aren't afraid of—what you might be missing?"

Chase shrugs, then finishes buttoning his shirt and snaps his belt buckle into place. He swallows visibly, voice much quieter when he speaks again, cautious, like she might be frightened away. "I'm terrified, Allison. All the time. There are so many things in my life I've tried to run away from, and I can't. Started drinking because it was the only way I could stop thinking about things for a while. But I know that I can't do that anymore, or it'll just wreck my liver even faster. Which is—maybe the only thing worse than the nightmares I'm already having. So—Yes, I'm sure. If I can't stop thinking, then I need something else to think about. Work was—the only other place I've ever been able to do that."

Cameron nods silently, understanding perfectly and heartbroken for him. She gets to her feet, unable to find words past the tightness in her throat. Chase looks perfectly composed again, the vulnerability of just a moment before already completely hidden. His tie is uneven, tilted to one side, the only clue that he isn't completely calm. Taking a step closer, Cameron straightens it, surprised when he doesn't resist.

–

The inside of Cuddy's office is over-airconditioned, too cold. It smells of coffee and fresh ink on paper. Cameron tries to keep herself from glancing sideways at Chase in the few silent moments before the meeting begins, reminding herself that if this is to succeed, she will have to make her relationship with Chase appear entirely professional. She still hasn't told anyone else about her pregnancy, afraid of how that knowledge might jeopardize her relationships with her colleagues. She knows they've always seen her as too biased by her emotions. Now Chase needs help which can only come out of her professional authority, and she has a department to keep open besides. A legacy to continue.

Cuddy clears her throat, sitting and lacing her hands on top of her desk. It's her first appointment of the morning, the top priority of today. Cameron tries not to remember her conversation with Cuddy in the hospital following the car accident, the thinly veiled animosity that's smoldered between them ever since.

"Dr. Chase," says Cuddy finally, glancing down at the stack of papers in front of her as if trying to center herself. Chase's personnel file, Cameron recognizes. "You're here because you've requested that I consider your returning to work."

"Yes," says Chase curtly, cupping his hands over one knee as though he needs something to hold onto. He isn't at ease here, lacks the confidence Cameron has seen him exhibit when working with patients. But he does look alert, well-dressed and respectful, a shocking change from his resentful defiance of six weeks ago.

"And you're asking that you be given your old job back, in Diagnostics," Cuddy continues. She's stating the obvious, moving slowly, apparently trying to gauge Chase's reaction to her questions. Momentarily Cameron wonders whether she's trying to goad him into anger, some sort of response that would justify denying his request. But she dismisses the thought as mere paranoia, an unfair judgment of Cuddy out of her instinctive protectiveness of Chase. Cuddy is only trying to do her job, to protect the hospital and its clients.

"That's correct," Chase continues, sounding deceptively calm, though Cameron can see the muscle in his jaw jumping.

"Six weeks ago, Dr. Cameron fired you from her department after you failed to perform a routine intubation, and were insubordinate during a meeting with me," says Cuddy, then clears her throat. "And that's putting it mildly. I can think of several significantly more colorful words to describe that situation."

"I'm willing to reverse that decision," Cameron interrupts before Chase can react. She hates the formality of this meeting, the pretense that this is anything different than a fight between family members. She knows she can't ask Cuddy to simply take it on faith that Chase has changed, and yet it doesn't seem fair when in the past she gave House so many chances in spite of his repeated failures. "Chase is an excellent doctor. I think it's safe to say he learned more from House than anyone. And he has a reputation. Do you have any idea how many cases we get every week where the patient has requested him specifically? If Chase wants to work in my department, I'm more than willing to have him. In fact, I think you'd be doing this hospital a great disservice by refusing."

"Dr. Chase has a history of addiction," says Cuddy, raising a hand for silence before either of them can break in. "I know it's not in the file. You're right, I don't have any official proof. I know you're going to come up with some convoluted story about how there's a valid medical reason. But do you really think I spent all those years working with House and don't know what I'm looking at?"

"I've been clean for two weeks," Chase says tightly, not even bothering to deny the accusations this time. This is an all or nothing battle, and he likely has no time left for a career besides. Nothing left to lose in its potential ruin.

"So you admit it then," says Cuddy. "Two weeks. That's good. Unfortunately, it's not long enough to prove to me that you're fit to work in this hospital. I also know how easy it is to relapse."

"This isn't fair," Cameron breaks in at last, bristling at her dismissal of the hell Chase has just been through. Realistically, statistically, Cameron knows that Cuddy's concerns are valid, especially since Chase has already had one episode of relapse. And yet, having witnessed personally his struggle, she can't help but be angered by the insinuation that it's meant nothing. "We both know how much you let House get away with. And you knew Chase had a problem long before I even came back here. You're trying to pin all of this blame on the Donahue case, but the truth is that we had nothing to do with his death. If you're determined to keep Chase out of this hospital despite all logic, save us the time and say it. Otherwise, stop playing games and let us both get to work."

"You're right, it isn't fair," says Cuddy, sounding upset now. "I did let House get away with too much. That was my mistake. And it's exactly why I can't let Chase come back to work now on the basis of two weeks' recovery. It's not enough. I'm sorry that this is hard for you, and I'm glad that you want to get your life in order. But I have to put patients' safety first. The answer is no. Not until you can show me better proof that you're fit to work."

"I understand," says Chase, standing, everything about him seeming momentarily defeated. But then he pauses, seeming to reconsider, finding some new resolution. Taking a shaky breath, he turns back. When he speaks again, he sounds entirely different, a tone ordinarily reserved for reluctantly-whispered secrets. "Dr. Cuddy, I appreciate what you're saying. And you're right. Two weeks isn't even enough for me to have convinced myself I'll be able to recover fully. The truth is, I don't have the proof you're looking for. I might never have it. I know you have access to all of my records, so you know that I'm probably going to die soon. All that I want to do is go back to work for a few months, see if I can solve a few more cases. Help save a few more people. That's all I have left to offer."

Cuddy is silent for a very long time, the emotions in the room too thick to speak through. There's a clock on the wall, and Cameron is acutely aware of its ticking, though she's never noticed it before.

"I hope you both know what you're doing," Cuddy says quietly at last. "You'd better go. I have another meeting in ten minutes, and the last I heard, Foreman found a case he could use your help with."

* * *

Reviews are the way to my heart.


	29. Chapter 29

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It takes all of Chase's newfound willpower not to bolt from Cuddy's office the minute they are dismissed, or worse yet lose control of the overwhelming fear and anger her words have unleashed. It's no surprise that Cuddy doubts his ability to work, or his honesty regarding his own addictions. She's been burned by House a hundred times before, and moreover, her concerns are well-founded. And yet her condemnation hits him like a blow to the chest, confirming every ounce of self-loathing that's festered in his gut for the past three years. But he can sense Cameron's eyes on him, can practically feel in the weight of her gaze the trust she's put in him by arranging this meeting. She's gambling her own career on this, he knows, and now that translates to their child's future livelihood.

He feels a new dichotomy of emotions toward Cameron, at once torn between distrust heightened by the risk he's taking in attempting a new beginning of friendship, and a sort of primal protectiveness for the woman carrying his unborn child. He is afraid, he realizes, of her and for her. The more hints of progress he sees, the more he remembers what it felt like to watch her walk out the door, to sign divorce papers, to wake up amongst the ruins of their marriage. Biting his lip until he tastes blood, Chase forces himself to leave Cuddy's office slowly and deliberately, focusing on the sounds Cameron's heels make on the tile floor as they reach the hallway.

"Come on," she says, as soon as the door is closed, and takes him by the wrist.

Chase jumps, surprised, and stumbles after her through the clinic, feeling unable to voice his confusion. "What are you doing?" he manages at last, as she quickly glances at the board and steers him toward an empty exam room.

"Need to make sure you're fit to start work today," Cameron says, too loudly and not convincingly at all.

Frowning, Chase steps inside without comment, watching as she closes and locks the door, then exhales. "Seriously, what is this about?"

"I just—wanted to give you a minute." Cameron crosses her arms and glances at her shoes, seeming suddenly uncertain of this. "After what Cuddy said—I'm sorry you had to hear that. I was hoping she'd be more reasonable. God knows she set a precedent with House."

"House was never reasonable," Chase says flatly, bristling. He hates that Cameron has seen straight through his facade of control, has guessed at the multitude of emotions he's been trying to hide for the past few minutes. It's yet another confirmation of the failures he's too aware of. "And you don't have to babysit me. I'm not gonna say anything to get you in trouble. Not that you'd believe me." The words sound childish, he knows, the entire statement a contradiction of itself.

"This isn't about me trusting you!" Cameron hisses, obviously trying to keep her voice down so the people waiting in the clinic outside won't hear. "Can't I ever do anything nice without you assuming it means I'm doubting you?"

"I don't know." Chase bites his lip again, wanting to feel the pain above the sting of the knowledge that she's right. She has no reason to trust him to restrain himself after their last disastrous meeting with Cuddy two months ago, and yet somehow he believes her statement that she does. "Can I ever do anything nice without you insisting that you don't need special treatment because you're pregnant?"

For a moment Cameron stares at him in dumbstruck silence, as though the idea that any of his attempts to help her might have come of genuine motives actually has not occurred to her. Chase thinks he ought to be hurt, but before the emotion can come, he realizes he's been making the same assumptions of her all along.

Slowly, her lips turn upward into a sheepish smile, and Chase feels laughter bubbling up in the back of his throat, almost a foreign sensation. In the next breath, Cameron is laughing too, stepping forward in a rush to wrap her arms around his waist. Instinctively Chase hugs her back, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. It's the first real contact—not necessitated by pain or panic—that he's had with anyone since she left, he realizes, and for one moment he allows himself to ignore the tiny voice of warning in the back of his mind, and simply enjoy the feeling.

"Hey," Cameron murmurs in his ear, as though it's only just occurred to her. "You got your job back. Congratulations."

For one second, it seems as though everything else is insignificant, and all that matters is this victory they've earned together. Chase steps back from her, still smiling. "Thanks, Boss."

–

Foreman is seated at the conference table when they reach the Diagnostics office, and Chase feels a renewed sense of anxiety. He hasn't seen Foreman since he was at Cameron's apartment in the midst of withdrawal. Worse, he remembers the past three years, remembers being drunk at Foreman's wedding, all the times in the beginning—before he'd started the drugs—when Foreman had tried to remind him to eat, to get out of bed in the morning. Nothing has mattered for such a long time that he finds himself horrified by his past behavior. He resents the judgment of the people he once viewed as friends, and yet he cannot blame them.

"You have a case?" Cameron asks as soon as they walk in the door, as though this day is entirely routine.

"Cuddy approved him coming back to work?" Foreman asks her incredulously, as though Chase isn't standing in the same room.

"No," Chase snaps, already primed to be on the defensive. "Just thought I'd come here and ruin your day."

"Yes," Cameron interrupts firmly. "Would you like to tell me about the case?"

"And that wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that the two of you are living together?" Foreman asks, ignoring her. "Because I'm really tired of you bringing your dirty laundry to work."

"I'm right here." Chase shrugs out of his jacket and into his labcoat just to have something to do. He can't remember the last time he's worn it.

"We're not living together." Cameron moves to the coffeepot in the corner of the room, pouring herself a mug. "Is there a case or not? Right now you're the one making things personal."

"Fine." Foreman sighs, eying Chase as he takes a seat at the far end of the table. "Neurology asked for a consult. Figured we might as well take the case from them."

Cameron goes to the whiteboard and uncaps a marker, carefully sipping her coffee before setting it down. "Go."

"Patient is a forty-six year old female," Foreman reads, not bothering to state her name. Chase wonders for a moment what it is, but isn't about to draw attention back to himself. "Presented to neurology with peripheral neuropathy in the hands and feet. Two years ago, the patient began experiencing a tingling sensation in her fingertips, which later spread to her toes. The tingling progressed to numbness, and now the patient consistently has no feeling in her extremities. She was referred to neurology by her GP when she complained of the inability to hold a pen, and difficulty walking due to the numbness in her feet."

"Diabetic peripheral neuropathy?" Chase offers when Foreman comes to a pause. Cameron is still writing symptoms on the board, and Chase suddenly feels the need to prove himself. He's expected to fall back into the rhythm of work, but finds instead that he doesn't entirely remember it.

Foreman gives him a look of disdain. "You don't think that's the first place her GP went?"

"Sorry," Chase snaps, feeling instantly defensive again, because Foreman is right that it's an obvious answer. Too obvious for the case to have even made it to their department. "Last time I checked, we started by eliminating easy answers."

"And when was the last time you checked?" asks Foreman. "Because I'm pretty sure you haven't been sober at work in at least two years. And I'm not even sure about right now."

"Enough!" Cameron interrupts again. "Can we please act like adults? For the good of the patient?"

Chase looks away, unable to meet her eyes. He hates that he needs protection, hates that he's compromising her authority by arousing suspicion regarding their relationship. And yet he knows too well how much it means that she's treating him this way, after everything. That is the most intimidating of all. Chase remembers her filling in for Cuddy, suddenly, what feels like decades ago. He remembers his shock then at how easily the role fit her, how much she'd grown during her two years in the ER. He'd thought her confidence was alluring then, and if he's honest with himself, he does now too. Yet another threat to his carefully cultivated apathy, the calculated distance he's been keeping between himself and the rest of the world like a shield.

"Were you finished?" Cameron asks Foreman, when a full minute has passed in silence.

"No," says Foreman, and clears his throat before continuing to read. "When the patient was twenty, she was admitted to the ER with severe abdominal pain and a fever of 103. Her appendix was removed, but pathology on the organ was normal. Following surgery, the pain increased for a duration of several weeks before resolving seemingly on its own. Since then, she's had several episodes of severe abdominal pain and fever. She suffers from chronic constipation, and has had more than ten surgeries, including the removal of her gallbladder, both ovaries, and several feet of large intestine. She has also been treated for chronic tachycardia."

"So that rules out appendicitis, and ovarian cysts or tumors," says Cameron, capping the marker. "Was there a pathology report on the bowel that was removed?"

Foreman shakes his head. "If there was, it's not in the file. And she's moved around so much that she's been a patient at five different hospitals. It's a records nightmare. We could try to track them down, but it would probably take days."

"MS?" says Chase, forcing himself to forge onward. "Would account for the neurological symptoms. And maybe the abdominal pain."

Cameron sets the marker on the edge of the board and moves to sit at the corner of the table, drawing his attention momentarily. It occurs to him that this is the first time in more than three years they've sat around this table as anything resembling a truly united team. The first few weeks after House's death, he'd spent most of his working hours dissecting Cameron's performance, trying to catalog every possible reason to resent her. Now he's forced to admit that he's glad she's in charge of the department. Even in her absence, he realizes, she has continued to grow, the profound empathy that's always made her a well-meaning doctor undercut by a hard edge of disillusionment which now makes her an effective boss.

"Lupus," she suggests, and there is a pause in which they all seem to be waiting for House's mockery which will never come.

"GP tested for both," says Foreman, reading the file again.

"The GP is a GP," Chase argues, feeling slightly more confident. "We should redo the tests."

"What about paraneoplastic?" Cameron bites her lip. "Cancer?"

"Unlikely with symptoms that intermittent," says Foreman, "And we know it can't be ovarian cancer."

"Breast or lung cancer could still fit." Chase folds his hands on the table, feeling as though they aren't making any progress. The natural rhythm of a differential feels like a distant memory still; this feels like an uphill climb.

Cameron sighs, then gets to her feet. "We have to start by getting the history straight. She's had so many procedures by so many different doctors, we have no idea what might have been missed by lack of coordination. We'll start with a full blood workup. Foreman, EMG and head MRI. Chase, endoscopy and colonoscopy."

Chase freezes, shocked that she is giving him procedures already, especially after his botched intubation. "Seriously?"

Cameron looks back over her shoulder, already halfway to the door. "Yes. Are you ready to be here or aren't you?"

* * *

Reviews are always appreciated!


	30. Chapter 30

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: I'll be out of town at a conference the rest of the week, so here's your update a day early. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirty

The clock reads just after two when Cameron awakens. She isn't sure for a moment exactly what has roused her, but her heart is pounding, little prickles of adrenaline crawling up the back of her neck. For a second she thinks it might have been an emergency page from the hospital—they'd left reluctantly for the night pending further test results—but her phone blinks up at her from the nightstand, completely silent. Then there is the sound of knocking on her apartment door, fast and hard. Switching on the light, Cameron sits up in a rush, not even taking the time to put a bathrobe over her pajamas before answering it.

Chase is standing there on her doorstep, still in pajamas too. He looks awful, flushed and breathing hard. There's a wildness in his eyes that sends Cameron's heart into her throat again.

"I'm sorry," he begins immediately, and Cameron realizes he's hyperventilating so badly he can barely speak. "I know it's late. I know we have work in the morning."

"What happened?" Cameron asks, ignoring him. His panic seems to be contagious, stealing her own breath.

"Nothing." Chase answers, too quickly. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles, then hugs himself. "I just—_really_ bad dreams. Couldn't calm down, and I thought—I really want a drink. I can't stop thinking about it. And I can't—slip again." He looks away from her, focusing on the numbers above her door, clearly ashamed.

"So you came here?" Cameron is suddenly filled with affection for him, for the fact that this time, he's made the conscious decision to trust her with his need in spite of his defenses. Not waiting for him to answer, she steps forward and pulls him into a hug.

Chase stiffens for a moment, his entire body trembling. Then, exhaling with effort, he relaxes against her in a rush that almost knocks her off balance. Sliding his arms around her waist, Chase hooks his chin over her shoulder, and Cameron is suddenly overwhelmed with nostalgia. Chase was always physically affectionate before, even before she admitted that she wanted him to be. She's missed this, she realizes; it feels strange having him so close and also so distant. Chase turns his face into her neck, holding onto her shirt. For a long time, Cameron holds him in silence, listening to his breathing slow.

"Stay here tonight," she murmurs against his ear at last.

"I can't ask you to do that," Chase says, breath tickling her neck. But he makes no move to pull away.

"It's the middle of the night." She runs a hand over his back, feeling the tension in his muscles shift. He smells vaguely of toothpaste and aftershave, and she's struck again by familiarity, by a flood of memories. "You came all the way here to ask for my help. Let me help you."

"But—You're pregnant." Chase pulls away at last, looking at her guiltily as though it's only just now dawned on him that he's actually come all the way here, and backpedaling in a rush. "And we've got work tomorrow. You need to sleep. I'll be okay. I'm used to not sleeping."

"Hey," says Cameron gently, catching his hand. "Remember what we talked about earlier? And we can both sleep in my apartment. Come on. It's hardly like you've never stayed here before."

Chase bites his lip. "That was different."

"Why?" asks Cameron, crossing her arms. The summer night air seems oddly chilly. "Because you were sick before?"

"Yes," says Chase, surprising her. "It's—not a necessity now."

"And we agreed to be friends." Cameron softens, suddenly understanding his hesitation. This decision is entirely personal, not medical. "Come lie down. You look like you're about to pass out."

After a moment's hesitation, Chase nods, and Cameron steps back to let him into the apartment. He seems slightly unsteady on his feet, and she closes the door quickly, catching up to him and instinctively taking his arm in support. Chase glances sideways at her, but to her surprise doesn't protest, letting her lead him into the bedroom. He seems disoriented, as though he's still half lost in the world of his nightmares.

Chase sits heavily on the bed, groaning softly as pulls his legs up onto the side of it and stretches out. His shoulders are still shaking, Cameron notices, and she wonders exactly what he's dreamt about that's left him so completely shattered. She's all too aware that he's accustomed to constant nightmares, but this is comparable to his level of panic during the height of withdrawal. Wordlessly, she moves around to her side of the bed, slipping into it and switching off the light, holding her breath. When Chase makes no move to push her away, she reaches across the space between them, finding his arm and squeezing lightly. He tenses, and she's reminded suddenly of the nights after Dibala's death, awakening before dawn to find him absent, or rigid and staring at the wall beside her. The thought fills her with a fresh wave of regret; if only she'd managed to break through to him then, to set things straight, they would be in a much different position now. Swallowing, she thinks again that he is dying now at least partially because of her.

"I was in the hospital," he says quietly, shifting on the pillow to look at her in the dark. "In my dream. They—they were doing a transplant. But I was awake for it."

"A liver transplant?" Cameron asks carefully, finding his hand under the covers and lacing their fingers. His skin is cool against hers.

"Yeah." Chase bites his lip, taking a breath. "They took out mine, and it was just—black sludge. Like tar. And they—they were going to put the new one in, but—"

"But?" Cameron prompts, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. There's something different in this moment; it's as though she can feel things shifting and changing in the dark around them. For three months she's been fighting to rebuild some semblance of trust with him, and though he claims to want to be friends now, tonight is the first time since being back she's felt more than a glimpse of a real connection with him.

"You were there," Chase says, voice barely audible. "Up—on the observation deck, watching. Said I didn't—That someone else should have the liver. Someone who didn't deserve to die. So they stitched me back up without a liver, and you walked away. There was a clock on the wall, in my hospital room. Counting down seconds until I'd die. Woke up just before—" He breaks off, turning his head to stare up at the ceiling.

"You know I don't really think that, right?" Cameron asks in a rush, horrified by the fact that even his subconscious would harbor the belief. His panic makes sense now, the fears she knows he's been fighting to overcome for weeks given a life of their own in sleep. "If I could find a way to get you a transplant—"

"I know," Chase interrupts a little too quickly. "But—It's true. I don't deserve it. Even if there was a way, I could never accept it. God, you were trying to give me a piece of your liver, and I—It's for the best. That you didn't."

There's a full moon outside, the silvery light slipping in through the cracks in the blinds. He turns his head toward her again, and his eyes are filled with an absolute clarity in the darkness. For one instant, this could be another bed, another time, and Cameron's breath catches in her throat as she meets his gaze, feeling as though they could be newly married again.

"I missed you," Chase whispers, tracing her jaw very lightly, almost as though he's unaware of what he's doing. "After you left—Everyone kept saying I should get help. Talk to someone." He shrugs. "You were the only one I wanted to talk to."

"You can talk to me now," Cameron offers softly, swallowing the ache of loss. It's been three months, and yet she still feels like it's a fresh discovery nearly every day, realizing how different his life has been from the one she's pictured. She wonders now how much she's been distorting reality, lying to herself to justify actions out of fear. "You know that, right? I know you don't trust me, but—"

"What did you do after you left?" Chase interrupts, surprising her. "Did you go straight home? To your parents' house?" He hasn't showed any interest thus far aside from criticizing her decision to leave. Cameron wonders for a moment whether he's created for himself a vision of her life the same way she's done for his.

"Yes." Cameron bites her lip, hard, trying to find a way to feel grounded. She's envisioned this conversation so many times, and now it feels surreal, like tonight might be a dream of her own. "First I spent most of the night stuck in the airport. I went to my parents' house as soon as I got to Chicago. Told them things—didn't work out."

"And what did they say?" Chase asks, shifting to sit up against the pillows a little. There's an unexpected softness to him; his words seem to come more out of remorseful curiosity than resentment.

Cameron shrugs, hesitating for a moment before deciding to answer him honestly. If they are going to have any hope of rebuilding some sense of trust, then they will both have to confront the truth, no matter how painful it is. "They—weren't really surprised. Said we got married too quickly. Rushed into things."

"And did we?" Chase murmurs breathlessly.

"No!" Cameron sits up abruptly, unable to stand the thought that he might truly believe their entire marriage was a sham. "What we had was—So much more than I'd ever hoped for. It was just—Life got in the way. And we both made mistakes."

Chase nods, very slowly. "It just—Feels so far away. Like I can't tell what's real sometimes. Like—Maybe we were never really happy."

"We were happy," Cameron breathes, blinking back tears as she settles on the bed again. "It wouldn't have hurt so much if we were never happy."

Chase doesn't respond, his gaze seeming to cut straight through her in the dark.

"I kept thinking you'd come after me," Cameron admits, taking his hand again. "Or call, at least. A letter. Something. But you didn't."

"You left," Chase says simply. He doesn't pull his hand away. "Thought the message was pretty clear."

"You'd always fought so hard for our relationship." Cameron smooths a wrinkle in the sheet with her free hand. "I didn't know what to think when you didn't."

"I couldn't," he says quietly. "I can't. I'm sorry. It's just—too much."

"I know." Cameron smiles sadly, remembering feeling the same way toward him six years ago, when everything had still been new, and she'd been the one terrified of taking a risk. His words then come flooding back to her, tightening her throat. "If you change your mind," she whispers, suddenly absolutely certain, "I'll be available."

Chase inhales sharply, clearly remembering too. But he doesn't answer right away, and Cameron can practically see him trying to distance himself again, to not let the words affect him.

"How've you been feeling?" he asks, effectively changing the subject. "You haven't told me anything. Besides your insistence that you don't need special treatment because of the pregnancy." He half-smiles, unconvincingly.

"Surprisingly fine, so far," Cameron answers. "Mostly I've been really tired. And sometimes dizzy, in the mornings."

"Nausea?" Chase asks, turning onto his side to face her.

Cameron shakes her head. "Not much. Hoping that continues."

"It's still hard to believe. Like I have to keep—reminding myself it's real." Slowly, as if moving in a daze, he reaches out and slips his hand beneath the hem of her shirt, resting his palm over her belly as though he might be able to feel the baby growing. Cameron sucks in a breath, covering his hand with her own and holding it there, goosebumps rising on her skin. Chase closes his eyes, looking completely calm for the first time in months.

"Go to sleep," she coaxes softly, not letting go of his hand. "We've got a case to solve tomorrow."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated! (BTW, my personal review record to date is 424. Care to help me break it? ^_~ Thank you so very much for all of your kind words and support so far. I'm absolutely blown away.)


	31. Chapter 31

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Thirty-One

By the time Chase gets to work, the entire world feels surreal again, blurring into his anxiety and exhaustion. He's spent the majority of the night lying awake, watching Cameron sleep, slipping away just before dawn to go home and get dressed for work. For years he's tried to shake the memory of waking up beside her, the way her wet hair curls around her shoulders. By daylight those images are all fresh in his mind, reminding him once again how much he misses her. He has never shared such profound intimacy with anyone else, and it feels so far away now as to be completely unattainable.

Warring with those thoughts are the memories of his most recent nightmares, of the panic that refuses to be quieted. Every time he allows his mind to wander, he finds himself back in that operating room, staring at the dark sludge where his liver ought to be, can still feel the condemnation of Cameron's gaze in the dream. The fear swells in his gut again as he enters the hospital, the smell of antiseptic wafting over from where the clinic floor has been freshly washed.

In the elevator, Chase tries to calm himself, to focus on the case again. He's half an hour late despite his best efforts, feeling as though everything is too difficult, like he's slogging through mud just to function. For one horrible second he's certain that he's done too much damage to his own body over the past few years, compromised his ability to think. Swallowing those thoughts down, he tries to focus on the logic, to convince himself that he should be able to do his job at least as well now as two months ago, when he'd still been on the drugs. Foreman is alone in the Diagnostics office when he reaches the door, and Chase sucks in a breath, steeling himself.

"I was starting to wonder if you were going to show up," says Foreman, without looking up from the medical journal he's reading.

"Where's Cameron?" asks Chase, ignoring him. He knows Foreman, knows the familiar rivalry between them which—at least once—was rooted in friendship. Chase isn't so certain of that now.

"With the patient, trying to get a better history." Foreman flips a page, looking bored. "Tests were all negative. I'm thinking with that many procedures, maybe we should be considering Munchausen's."

"Maybe," says Chase noncommittally, reluctant to condemn their patient so quickly.

A few moments pass in tense silence, and Chase finds himself again regretting his behavior over the past three years. He hasn't forgotten how hard Foreman tried in the beginning to be supportive, though help with personal problems has never come easily to him. Chase is all too aware that he's been nothing if not ungrateful, too afraid to do anything but scorn anyone's attempts at empathy, or worse.

"I'm sorry about your wedding," Chase says impulsively, aware both how long overdue this apology is, and how out of place it sounds in this context.

Foreman looks up slowly, his gaze incredulous. "I'd ask you if you were high, but that would be in bad taste, considering."

"I'm not high," Chase says flatly, sitting at the far end of the table and trying not to react. "Realized I've never apologized before. So—I'm sorry."

Foreman continues staring at him for a long moment, as though Chase is a list of symptoms he's trying to diagnose. "Great. You do realize that's meaningless?"

Chase frowns, bristling. His guilt tells him Foreman is right, that it's much too little and three years too late. But the part of him which is desperate to move on, to at least attempt atonement before the nightmares catch up to him, rebels against the idea. "Why? I can't take back what happened. What I've done. All I can do is try to make up for it now. If that's never gonna be good enough for anyone..."

Foreman closes the journal in front of him with an impatient snap. "If you're going to have a pity party, please tell me now so I can leave."

Chase sighs and laces his hands on the table, wishing he'd brought something to read for himself. Foreman reopens the journal and begins staring at it again, the silence stretching out between them. Looking at the reflections of the windows in the glass tabletop, Chase tries to remember what it was like when this room felt like home, when his life had seemed meaningful. It feels like a distant dream, and he finds himself again fixating on his nightmares, on the black sludge of guilt he's now certain must be filling his veins, poisoning his body. Then he thinks of the child he might never get to know, of the injustice of this miracle just out of reach. An appropriate punishment for his crimes, but still impossible to accept.

"I need your help," Chase says abruptly, resolved the instant the words are out of his mouth. He's been living in limbo for weeks, allowing the nightmares to creep in through the spaces created by the unknown. Now he's crossed over into the place where the fear is taking over, threatening to hurt the people around him again.

Foreman sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. "I don't think you're in much of a position to be asking favors."

"I need you to retest my liver function." Chase tightens his jaw, forcing himself to hold Foreman's gaze.

"What, now?" Foreman's brow furrows.

"Yes," Chase insists.

Foreman shakes his head. "Make an appointment at the clinic. Or get Cameron to do it if you're so anxious for special treatment."

"I can't ask her," says Chase carefully, suddenly desperate for the answer. "I don't want her to know."

"Yeah," says Foreman sarcastically. "You've got a really healthy relationship with her."

"We're friends." Chase sucks in a breath, momentarily tempted to tell him about Cameron's pregnancy, and all the reasons why she doesn't need to be worried unduly right now. And yet he knows why she hasn't told anyone at work, respects her too much to breach that trust. And he's afraid of compromising the fragile growth of their friendship besides. "I've already asked her for too much. It's been almost two months. If there's still no improvement now, then it's just a matter of time until I die. I'm starting to accept that. But if there's even the smallest chance—_Please_. I have to know."

"Now you sound like my wife," Foreman says, surprising him. If there's anything Foreman hates more than talking about other people's personal lives, it's discussing his own. "Fine. I'll do it. Let's go."

Chase exhales slowly, feeling oddly shaken. "Thank you."

Foreman gets to his feet, then pauses. "You and Cameron? Are never going to be friends. You have too much history. You'll either love each other or hate each other, but if you think it's anything in between, you're just deluding yourselves."

For a moment Chase can only gape at him, entirely thrown. "I think we're grown up enough to reach a compromise."

But Foreman only shakes his head. "Look at House and Stacy. That's your future. She'll move on eventually, find a healthy relationship. You'll continue to pine until you've ruined any semblance of a relationship you had left."

"Yeah," Chase snaps, finally retreating behind the safe facade of sarcasm. "And then when her third husband gets sick, she can bring him to me to be treated and—" He freezes, realization striking as images of Mark's case and diagnosis run through his mind.

"What?" taunts Foreman. "Realize I'm right?"

"Our patient has AIP," Chase says slowly, breathing in the familiar exhilaration of epiphany. "Explains the abdominal pain, tachycardia...everything. It even explains why our tests are negative. She's between attacks right now."

Foreman's eyes widen, something shifting between them. He smiles almost imperceptibly. "Maybe you're not completely useless yet."

–

The envelope has been sitting like a lead weight in Chase's pocket since Foreman brought it back from the lab in the afternoon. When he'd asked for the test he'd been so certain, so desperate for an answer. And yet now that it is literally in his hands, he can't bring himself to open it and read the results. He spends as long as possible at work, staying until the case is completely wrapped up, and then until the clinic has closed as well. The thought of going home scares him, and suddenly he's convinced that if he allows himself to be alone with this information, it will send him spiraling into addiction again, plunging out of control toward his own death.

Chase's hand shakes as he reaches out and knocks on Cameron's door; he's too aware that it hasn't even been twenty four hours since he was last standing here. He knows that he's asking too much of her, has wanted to keep her out of this as long as possible, and yet there is no one else he even comes close to trusting with this feeling of utter helplessness. He needs her, he realizes, in spite of the knowledge that it could get them both hurt again. It takes her a moment to answer, and Chase holds his breath.

Cameron is holding a basket of half-folded laundry when she finally opens the door, and she smiles, blissfully unaware of the reason for his visit. "Hey. Nice catch with the case today. Feel like celebrating?"

"I—No." Chase swallows, feeling instantly guilty for the fact that he's about to ruin her good mood. She seems the most relaxed he's seen her since she's moved back, almost happy. Immediately he regrets his failure to keep this test a secret from her as he'd originally planned. He is a coward, he thinks, unable to protect anyone from himself. It would be better, perhaps, if the results in the envelope were damning, if he could find the resolve to send her away again once and for all.

Cameron frowns, her entire demeanor changing to concern. "Did something happen?"

Chase takes a breath, at a loss for words, feeling as though his emotions are moving so quickly he can't capture them to articulate. His chest is already tightening, and he recognizes instantly the familiar beginnings of a panic attack. "Can I just come in?"

She steps back, letting him pass her and putting the laundry basket down. "Of course."

Chase pauses in the hallway, struck by the ease between them, how quickly they've found their way back to this place the moment he's allowed himself anything at all. He remembers Foreman's words, and is suddenly terrified that he's already too invested in this, already setting himself up for future hurt and ruin. And yet he doesn't have the willpower to act, to push her away again, especially now when she is pregnant with his child.

"What happened?" Cameron repeats, leading him over to the couch and sitting beside him.

Chase swallows as he fishes the envelope out of his pocket, knowing that she will recognize the lab's labeling on it, will know immediately what it is. "I—asked Foreman for this. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to worry, but—I had to know."

Cameron's eyes widen in recognition. "And?"

Chase bites his lip, unable to meet her eyes as shame swells in his gut again. "I haven't looked yet. I was afraid of what would happen if—What I might do. I can't do that to you again." Tentatively, he offers the envelope to her, feeling as though she holds his entire future in her hands. "Would you please just tell me?"

After a long moment she takes the envelope, and Chase notices that her hands are shaking as she breaks the seal and unfolds the enclosed sheet of paper. He watches her eyes move back and forth several times across the lines of type, her lower lip caught between her teeth and pressed bloodless.

"That bad?" Chase manages when she remains quiet; he'd thought he'd resigned himself to death weeks ago, but now he feels a fresh wave of panic so intense it's almost nauseating.

Cameron shakes her head, handing the paper back to him. "No," she whispers, sounding breathless with disbelief. "It's great. I don't know how—You're healing. You're definitely healing. The Valium and the stress of withdrawal must have made it take longer. God."

The numbers on the page blur as his eyes fill with tears, and Chase can't even manage to read it before Cameron is lunging to hug him. He crumples the paper in his fist as he returns her embrace, burying his face against her shoulder, completely overwhelmed. It's been years since any kind of a future to his life has seemed like a reality. He's given up on so many things, allowed himself to be crushed by guilt, by addiction, by impending death. Now so many possibilities are racing through his mind, the world seeming to unfold before him again.

"You're not dying," Cameron whispers against his ear, and he realizes that she's crying too. She's holding on so tightly that he can hardly breathe, and it's the best thing he's felt in years, as though in this moment none of the horrors which have stood between them exist at all.

Sitting back a little to look at her, Chase feels as though he can see the future in her eyes, in the tears of desperate relief on her cheeks. That she could be so _happy_ now to have him in her life is staggering. Without another moment's thought, Chase leans over and kisses her breathlessly, fingers threading into her hair. Cameron responds instantly, her hand going to the nape of his neck. She makes a soft noise against his mouth, and he can taste the salt of tears on her lips.

When Chase forces himself to pull away at last, Cameron is flushed and breathing raggedly, looking at him with an expression somewhere between fear and longing. He loves her, Chase realizes, irrevocably, unquestionably, beyond hope. And yet that is exactly why he can never be with her again, can never afford to risk anything more than friendship for both of their sakes. She cannot be subjected to the blackness of his soul, to the part of him which seems to poison everything good in his life. He thinks he ought to warn her somehow, but can't find the words.

"I think we should order dinner," Cameron says finally, seeming to sense his need to put some measure of distance between them again. This is a step neither of them is ready to take, "Chinese?"

Chase nods slowly, sucking in a breath. "I guess—We have a lot to talk about now."

* * *

Feedback is the way to my heart. ^_~ Thank you for helping me break my record on the last chapter!


	32. Chapter 32

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two

The remainder of the week passes in a blur, too quickly. By the time the weekend rolls around, Cameron finds herself with everything including paperwork completed, a feeling that's practically alien after the chaos of the past few months. At first it's a relief to have nothing to do; she goes home early, finishes the laundry and cooks an elaborate dinner. Luxuries, once, she thinks as she curls up in bed with a book. Now her apartment just seems too empty, too quiet, reminding her yet again of everything that's been lost. She's moved the azalea plant to the windowsill in her bedroom since Chase went back to the condo, and now she finds herself staring at the shadows it makes on the wall as the sun sets behind it. The leaves are green now, much healthier, though there's still no sign of any blossoms.

On Saturday morning, resolved, Cameron dresses in the workout clothes which have sat abandoned at the back of her closet for months. Without giving herself time for further thought or hesitation, she gets in her car, stopping only at the coffee shop on the corner to pick up breakfast before driving the rest of the way to the condo.

Chase is still in his work clothes from the previous day when he answers the door, looking exhausted and disheveled. Cameron inhales sharply, momentarily wondering whether she's made a mistake by coming here, by not calling ahead. She's meant to keep this as casual as possible, but now she thinks she might be pushing him too hard, that it might be better to simply give him space. But she's here already, and it's too late to change her mind.

"Hey," says Chase, sounding surprised. He runs a hand through his hair, looking ashamed of being seen in such an unprepared state. "Something wrong?"

"No." Cameron frowns. It hasn't even occurred to her this time to think he might have been drinking again; perhaps she's being naïve, she thinks, trusting him too much too soon. But she can't bear the thought that he would be willing to throw away this miracle of redemption, this unlikely second chance. "Should I be asking you the same thing?"

"What?" he asks distractedly, then shakes himself. "I'm fine."

Cameron studies him for a moment, noticing that at some point he's removed the previous day's tie, and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. Yet he's still wearing his trouser socks, which have a hole in the toe. "Fall asleep on the couch again?" she asks finally.

Chase bites his lip, then nods.

Cameron can almost see the conscious decision to tell her the truth. "Still have trouble sleeping?" she presses gently, having hoped that he would be more relaxed now that his liver function tests have improved. Too much to hope for so soon, she supposes.

Chase nods again, more quickly this time. "Bad dreams. Always." It's obviously an understatement.

"Can I come in?" Cameron asks finally, deciding to let the subject go for now. "I brought breakfast." She's all too aware that she can't protect him from the nightmares, doesn't even dare to offer him the comfort he so desperately needs for fear of jeopardizing the precarious balance of their friendship. It's been nearly a week since he kissed her, and still she can't stop remembering, can't stop noticing his presence in her life as though they are in the throes of a brand new burgeoning romance. She knows too well that he was acting on pure adrenaline, that he probably would have kissed anyone nearby upon learning his test results. And yet he's crept into her dreams every night for a week, making her feel ridiculously like a teenager again. If only things were so simple.

Chase steps back to let her enter, but looks unsatisfied. "What are you doing here?"

Cameron sucks in a breath, feeling ridiculous in the excuse she's used to justify this visit to herself. "I heard you got the boot off your ankle yesterday. I was thinking you might want to go for a walk with me. In the park?"

"Oh," says Chase, still looking bewildered.

"It wouldn't have to be for very long," says Cameron, too quickly, desperate for justification. The prospect of admitting that she is here simply because she wants to spend time with him seems suddenly terrifying. "You've lost a lot of muscle strength over the past few months. It's a good idea to get active right away. Speed recovery."

"Yeah," says Chase dryly. "I went to medical school too. I'm not going to slack on the rehab."

"I didn't say you were!" Cameron protests too loudly, feeling disoriented and out of control. Nothing is easy between them anymore; bitterness and anger required less energy than this painstaking progress.

Chase flinches, looking immediately contrite. "Sorry. I didn't mean to accuse you. I just—"

"What?" asks Cameron more gently, taking a step toward him. She's struck by how vulnerable he looks in his rumpled work clothes, dark shadows framing his eyes. She wonders whether she ought to be encouraging him to sleep more instead, but that obviously isn't what he wants to be doing right now.

"I don't want to be a burden to you. I've already taken so much." Chase looks at his feet, unconsciously wiggling the toe that protrudes through the hole in his sock. "I should be trying to repay you, not taking up more of your time."

"Hey," Cameron breathes, at once relieved and heartbroken. She sets the bag from the coffee shop on the table and closes the distance between them, reaching up carefully to stroke his cheek. Chase flinches, but doesn't stop her. "Maybe I wanted to spend today with you."

Chase swallows visibly, exhaling. "Okay," he says at last, trying to calm himself.

"I brought breakfast," Cameron offers, feeling uncomfortable again, as though this simple gesture is somehow too intimate. "From the coffee shop. I thought—you might want one of those disgusting cinnamon rolls you used to get."

Chase smiles weakly and picks up the bag, brightening for the first time this morning. "Really?"

Cameron nods, remembering how many times they'd ended up at the coffee shop after a morning spent together on their occasional joint days off. How she'd watched him dissect the layers of gooey cinnamon roll with his surgeon's touch, as if they were delicate organs. Now she takes her own cup and bagel from the bag,

"You're drinking coffee?" asks Chase, mouth already full.

Cameron resists the urge to roll her eyes. "It's decaf." She has to admit, as irritating as his concern is, it's also endearing, a welcome change from the resentment and anger she was met with when she first moved back to Princeton. Still, there's the constant little voice of doubt in the back of her mind, the fear that he's only changed his attitude toward her because of her pregnancy, because even now he seems to want a child more than anything else. She wonders for a moment whether that is the sole reason for their progress before forcing the thought away, dismissing it as irrational anxiety.

"Ready?" Cameron asks when he's finished, the silence starting to creep in too closely between them again.

Chase nods, getting to his feet and stretching his ankle experimentally. "Just a second. Let me go get dressed."

Cameron gets to her feet as he vanishes into the bedroom, looking around the living room. The ruined wedding pictures are gone now, safely tucked away in the closet at her new apartment. She's wrapped the broken frames in towels like funeral shrouds, unable to look at them in their current state. She hasn't decided yet whether to get them reframed; that seems a premature action at the moment. She's waiting, she realizes, for some kind of sign as to how this will all end.

"Let's go," Chase says finally, jarring her out of her reverie.

Cameron gets to her feet and grabs her purse, tossing her empty coffee cup into the trash on the way out the door. The morning is already balmy, though it isn't as hot as it could be for early August. The sun is just starting to cut through the dew, and it isn't too warm to still be pleasant. Chase makes his way slowly down the steps beside her, still hesitant to put weight on his ankle.

"How does it feel?" she asks when they reach the bottom, afraid of pushing him too much.

Chase shrugs, stretching again, still looking generally exhausted, but less pale since eating. "It's fine."

"We could take my car to the park if that's easier," Cameron offers. "If you're not ready to walk that far."

"I said it's fine," Chase snaps, then sighs. "I'm sorry. Just—really tired."

Cameron swallows, forcing herself not to voice further concern, though it pains her to see him so obviously suffering even on one of his better days. "Okay."

Chase glances sideways at her as they turn out onto the familiar street, and Cameron wonders whether he feels as awkward as she does remembering how many times they've made this walk hand in hand before. "I thought it would get easier," he says quietly.

"Now that you know you're not dying, you mean?" Cameron prompts, crossing her arms. The neighborhood has changed, she realizes, more than she's expected after a three year absence. She isn't sure she would have recognized it now, if she didn't know better. Several of the houses she remembers have been repainted; several others have For Sale signs in the front yard. Everything that was new and clean when they first moved in looks as though it's taken a beating.

"Yeah," Chase answers carefully after a moment. "Those—were the worst nightmares I'd ever had. Worse than even—right after the Dibala case. I thought—now that I know they aren't real—"

"But they haven't gone away?" Cameron asks, surprised. She's taken it for granted that he's been freed from that specific fear, at least, as she has.

Chase shakes his head, glancing at her again as they enter the park and wordlessly make their way over to the tiny footbridge that crosses a pond at its narrowest point. Cameron rests her arms on the railing and leans over to look into the water below, nearly overwhelmed by deja vu. They've been here, in this exact position, so many times before, yet this one is entirely different.

"Just—still feels like it can't be real," Chase says softly, leaning on the rail beside her. "Like I can't possibly deserve this." In the water below, a mallard is dabbling, curly tail high in the air, surrounded by downy ducklings.

"You earned it," says Cameron, frowning. "You went through withdrawal. You changed your lifestyle."

Chase shrugs. "Doesn't change the things I've done."

"And the things you've done don't determine your liver function," Cameron argues, well aware that that's not really what he means.

The park is relatively empty, save for a couple of teenagers playing fetch with an enthusiastic floppy-eared puppy. Cameron watches them for a moment before turning back to the ducks. In the past, she might have thought to bring along the week's stale bread crusts, but she has nothing with her now. Across the pond, her eye is drawn a young couple with a stroller, like a vision of the future she still hardly dares imagine.

"We'll have to bring the baby here," she whispers, almost without realizing she's spoken the words aloud.

Chase turns to look at her for a long moment in silence, a look in his eyes that she can't read.

"What is it?" Cameron asks, feeling breathless.

Chase shakes his head a little, swallowing. "Used to think about proposing to you here."

Cameron's eyes widen; she's left without words in response to that. Her first instinct is to apologize, yet she regrets neither learning this fact, nor the apparent truth of it. She wonders suddenly how things might have gone if he had proposed here, if the course of their relationship had been changed by even such a trivial degree. Whether by some miraculous butterfly effect, they might still be together today. Then Chase clears his throat, turning away from her in a rush as though he's just realized what he's said, the tranquility of the moment shattered.

"I'm going home," he says roughly, starting off immediately, faster than before.

"Wait!" Cameron calls after him, stunned.

Chase doesn't slow down or look back.

* * *

Feedback is always greatly appreciated!


	33. Chapter 33

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: I wanted to answer some questions I seem to be getting a lot.

-The cases in this fic are from a variety of sources. Some of them are from medical journals, some from newspaper articles, etc. They're all real cases, in terms of the symptoms and the differential. I take them and add a backstory, make the patient a character and decide how I think the House team would handle the case.

-I estimate that writing takes me between 6 and 10 hours per chapter, not including the time it takes me to plot.

-I write a detailed plot outline in chunks of about 10 chapters, though I've known what the major events of this story were since early October '09 (before I started posting).

-I write 3 chapters in advance of posting, which means that by the time a chapter gets posted, it's been written for about 2 weeks. That way, if I realize there's a problem with something I've written previously, there's still some margin of time in which I can fix it.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Three

Cameron is late for work on Monday.

Chase has been in the office since just before dawn, fleeing yet another dream-filled night in favor of the quiet hospital. The clinic isn't open yet, and they don't have a case, nothing to occupy his time. Watching the sky turn pink outside, he turns to the shelves of books surrounding the room, House's unintentional last gift to the department. Running his fingers across the bindings, Chase wonders what it might have been like had House been the one given an unlikely second chance. It seems certain that House would have deserved it more, with his years of saving lives. To Chase it still seems at least half a cruel joke of nature; he's been spared the fear of imminent death only to have another layer added to the guilt which already threatens to crush him.

Foreman arrives a few minutes before nine, carrying a cup of coffee and looking supremely disinterested in being at work. He doesn't say anything as he takes a seat and unfolds the newspaper on the table in front of him, for which Chase is silently grateful. But when another half hour passes and Cameron is still absent, unease begins to grow in the pit of his stomach, tightening into an unpleasant knot. He glances surreptitiously at his cell phone for any hint of a message, but there is nothing. For a few minutes he sits in silence, trying not to let disaster scenarios creep into his mind. Finally he resolves to call her in spite of the suspicion it will arouse in Foreman, and has just picked up his phone to dial when Cameron finally sweeps in the door of the office, looking exhausted.

"New case," she says by way of greeting.

"Are you okay?" Chase asks reflexively, shrugging off the look Foreman gives him. Cameron looks flustered, unfocused, and he wonders whether something has happened to upset her, or if she's finally started experiencing the more unpleasant pregnancy symptoms. He knows better than to ask directly.

"Fine," says Cameron curtly, pulling on her labcoat. "We should get to work."

"You're late," says Foreman, though he's still eying Chase.

"I got called to the ER for a consult," says Cameron unconvincingly. She spreads the file out on the table, uncapping a marker, then putting it back down with a grimace. Focusing her gaze on the patient's chart, she pulls out a chair and sits in it quickly.

"You're not going to use the whiteboard?" Foreman frowns, clearly suspicious, and Chase feels the bottom of his stomach drop. He knows Cameron wants to keep her pregnancy from the rest of the hospital for as long as possible, but at this rate, Foreman is bound to figure it out on his own, and soon.

Cameron clears her throat and flips the first page of the chart. "We don't need it for this."

Chase raises his eyebrows, suspecting that the smell of the markers is bothering her, but doesn't comment. "Are we really going to fight about the whiteboard?" he asks Foreman instead. "Because I'd like to get to the case. You know, the one with an actual live patient who we'd like to keep that way?"

"Carol White," says Cameron forcefully, glancing down at the chart. "Thirty-two year old female currently in the midst of a very messy divorce. During the hearing, the patient complained of feeling nauseated, and got up to run from the courtroom to vomit. On her way to the exit, she collapsed, passing a large amount of bloody diarrhea. When the EMTs arrived, her blood pressure was extremely low. She's receiving fluids and a unit of blood now. The husband—ex-husband—reportedly thinks she did something to herself to get sympathy."

"Sounds like a real winner," says Chase, catching the top page of the chart when she slides it across the table to him. He's learned over the years not to react outwardly to mentions of divorce, but the word still catches in his ears like an alarm, stirring too many echoes of memory. He wonders silently whether Cameron feels the same way, whether the nonchalant way the word rolls of her tongue is simply an act. He doesn't dare look at her now.

"She lost enough blood to need a transfusion?" asks Foreman, frowning. "That's pretty drastic. Trauma?"

"In the courtroom?" Cameron raises her eyebrows. "Pretty sure someone would have seen."

Foreman rolls his eyes. "Not what I meant. Internal trauma. From something she ingested? We should do an xray."

Chase shakes his head, surprised again that Cameron seems so off her game, but not wanting to draw attention to it. "With that kind of bleeding, could be a perforated ulcer. Or a ruptured intestinal blockage. An xray wouldn't catch either of those. We should do a colonoscopy first."

"What about the ex-husband?" asks Foreman, flipping through the file quickly. "If he thinks she did something to herself, it's worth looking into. She's going through a messy divorce, maybe she's worried about how the judge is going to rule...Suicide attempt? Publicity stunt?"

"That's a ridiculous leap," Chase interrupts, suddenly feeling defensive. This discussion ought to be impersonal, ought to have nothing to do with his own life and relationships, yet he's felt judged by Foreman every moment of every day since returning to work. "Not everyone going through a divorce attempts suicide. Maybe she's happy about it."

"Yeah," scoffs Foreman. "And maybe she's perfectly healthy! Let's all go home!"

"Not what I said." Chase leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, frustrated with the constant tension at work. "Of course we should do a tox screen. We should check for anything we can think of. With that kind of bleeding, she doesn't have time for us to make mistakes. But I think it's ludicrous to presume that we know our patient's deep dark secrets from an EMT report. We should at least talk to her when she regains consciousness before making any assumptions."

"Great," snaps Foreman. "The test-for-everything approach. Because we've seen how successful that is."

"Pretty sure it's more successful than the do-nothing approach," Chase shoots back, then freezes when he notices Cameron sitting perfectly still, two fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose. "Are you okay?" he repeats.

"What?" Cameron glances up distractedly, seeming to have only just realized that the focus of conversation is back on her again, and demands a response from her. "I'm fine. Just gives me a headache when my employees act like children."

"How about you contribute, then?" Foreman needles, as though they are all equals and she has no authority at all.

Chase bristles, but says nothing, aware of how strange it will look to everyone if he is protective of Cameron now after doing everything in his power to undermine her barely two months ago.

"All right," says Cameron, getting to her feet, voice edged in uncharacteristically quick anger. "Here's my contribution. Foreman, go do a colonoscopy. Chase, do the tox screen yourself. Look for anything you can think of, standard and nonstandard. And see if you can get a better idea of what's going on with her ex-husband, once she wakes up."

"What are you going to do?" asks Chase, still concerned and feeling helpless to do anything without raising suspicion.

"I have to talk to Cuddy," Cameron answers, and leaves before anyone can question her further.

–

It takes Chase nearly two full hours to complete the tox screen, searching for as many substances as he can think of. He checks the results three times, and then spends another several minutes wracking his brain, terrified of omitting a crucial test. So far everything has been negative, and he can't shake the feeling that he's missing something even as he walks back to the Diagnostics office, resigned to the need for further discussion.

He's tried to lose himself in work the past three years, despite the demons this place harbors. In this hospital he made the decision which has forever changed his life, plunged him into sin. And yet he feels drawn to it, driven to work as though saving an impossibly infinite number of lives might somehow bring him a tiny fraction closer to true atonement. But the fear is always there, the possibility that he might miss something, might hurt someone, might fail to be good enough and in the process alter an innocent's life.

"Find anything?" asks Foreman, as Chase walks back into the office.

"No," says Chase, glancing at the empty interior office before sitting at the conference table. "Where's Cameron?"

Foreman shrugs. "Don't know. You heard her say she was going to talk to Cuddy."

"It's been hours," says Chase doubtfully, wondering suddenly what Cameron could possibly need to discuss that would be so pressing. He'd been too focused on the case earlier to question her, but something is obviously bothering her today. In all their time together he's rarely seen her sick, and he wonders again whether she's finally started having significant morning sickness, and how she plans to play it off at work if this becomes a regular occurrence.

"What did you do to her?" Foreman asks abruptly, putting down the report from the colonoscopy he's been holding.

"What?" Chase stammers, shocked at the accusation. The idea that Foreman would even ask sickens him, though he knows he's openly treated Cameron badly enough in the recent past to more than justify it.

"Cameron," says Foreman slowly, as though Chase is a particularly dull child. "Something's obviously wrong with her today. Since I don't think you're enough of a psychopath to intentionally make her sick, I'm going to assume you did something that upset her."

"I didn't do anything!" Chase protests, stomach churning at Foreman's implications. "I haven't even seen her since Saturday morning!"

"Saturday?" Foreman raises his eyebrows, and Chase realizes belatedly what he's just said, anger making him dangerously impulsive.

"She showed up at my place," Chase admits, deciding that in this instance the truth is the least risky option. "Wanted to make sure I was doing physical therapy for my ankle."

Foreman snorts. "How sweet."

"I'm not discussing this any more," says Chase firmly, clenching his jaw and willing himself to leave the conversation unfinished. There is nothing he can say to justify himself to Foreman without breaking Cameron's trust, and at the moment that is much more important. "We have a case. I'm not gonna sit around wasting time and put the patient in danger just because Cameron's in a meeting right now."

Foreman sighs, seeming to accept this after a moment. "Fine. Nothing on the tox screen?"

"All negative," Chase repeats, "except for alcohol. But it wasn't a large enough amount to account for any of the symptoms, much less all of them together."

"But she collapsed in the morning," says Foreman thoughtfully. "So we know she was drinking on the morning of her divorce hearing. Could be significant."

Chase shrugs. "Wouldn't you?"

"No," says Foreman darkly. "I wouldn't."

"What did you find in the colonoscopy?" asks Chase, ignoring the comment. "Obviously not a perforation or an obstruction, or we wouldn't still be discussing this."

Foreman shakes his head. "The bleed came from oxygen deprived cells in the lining of the colon. So the rectal bleeding was caused by the low pressure, not the other way around."

"Then what caused the low BP?" Chase mutters to no one in particular. "I assume you checked for signs of bleeding elsewhere?"

"No," says Foreman dryly. "I thought we'd wait and see if she bled out in a few hours. Yes, I checked. No signs of internal bleeding, and her BP is completely stable now."

"Then what about a bleeding disorder?" Chase suggests, staring at the blank whiteboard. "We should do a bleeding time test."

Foreman starts to reply, but is interrupted by the phone on the desk ringing. Chase watches as he gets up reluctantly to answer it. Foreman listens for only a moment before hanging up and turning back, his entire expression changed to one of utter shock. "That was Cameron. Said she's being admitted to the hospital and she wants you there. Didn't say why. Something you should tell me?"

"Fuck," Chase breathes, ignoring the question, and leaves the office at a run despite the pains which shoot up his ankle at the sudden movement. He's certain suddenly that he's become too engrossed in the case, in the fear of overlooking something and putting their patient in danger. Instead he's missed what was right in front of him, made the assumption that Cameron's obvious discomfort was nothing more than a normal part of pregnancy.

Waiting the interminable few seconds for the elevator to come, he wonders whether his failure is about to cost them everything.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	34. Chapter 34

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Four

Time seems to stretch out, coming to a standstill so that it might be seconds or hours passing. There's a clock on the wall which seems to be deafening in its ticking, but Cameron finds she can't focus on it, can't seem to make sense of the numbers though she knows she ought to be able without any effort. Her heart is pounding in her temples, and the room feels much too small, the walls pressing in as though there is not enough air here.

She can't say how much time has passed since she spoke with Foreman on the phone, whether it's been unreasonably long for her room still to be empty. She's grateful that he didn't choose to interrogate her on the spot, didn't say much of anything at all. But at the same time, she has no idea whether he'll comply with her request or what he might have already said to Chase.

Warring with those concerns is the fear that Chase has already been told and isn't coming. Her thoughts are racing, panic churning her stomach, and she can't shake the image of him receiving the news and heading straight for the nearest bar. The truth is that Cameron isn't sure how far he can be trusted yet. She's certain he isn't ready for this kind of emotional pressure, and the small part of her that's still able to feel anything aside from her own panic is filled with guilt for putting him in this position now. But ready or not, she needs him, and the thought that he might disappoint her in this lowest moment is unbearable.

Cameron has nearly resigned herself to the thought that he's taken off, isn't coming, is probably already back on the path to self destruction, when he finally appears in the doorway, flushed and breathing hard. His lab coat is draped over one arm, and his eyes are filled with panic.

"Hey," Chase manages after a moment, obviously trying to sound calmer than he is, though neither of them is convinced. "Came as quickly as I could. What happened?"

Cameron swallows, sitting up against the pillows and trying to stop the room from spinning. She's tried a thousand times to view her own case objectively, to list her symptoms as though she were simply reading a chart. Yet she still can barely find her voice; her throat feels too tight, her head filled with cotton.

"Allison?" Chase takes a few tentative steps closer, perching on the edge of the chair across from the bed.

"I was sore when I woke up this morning," Cameron manages finally, not recognizing the sound of her own voice, the meticulous sense of false calm she's cultivated working in emergency medicine. It seems out of place to her now, and for an instant her racing thoughts fixate on wondering whether this is how her patients have perceived her in the past. "I just—thought I'd slept wrong, twisted my back somehow. And I had a headache, which I assumed was just stress."

"But?" Chase prompts, obviously aware that those symptoms alone wouldn't constitute a problem, wouldn't even arouse enough concern for her to ask for an exam in the middle of a workday.

"Started feeling nauseous at work," she continues, feeling disconnected still, as though she's watching herself give a diagnostic interview. "Stopped in the bathroom before going to meet with Cuddy and realized I was bleeding. After that, everything just—"

"Turned into an emergency," Chase finishes quietly, surprising her. He looks remarkably collected, moreso than she feels, though she can still see well-concealed fear in the way his jaw is clenched, the muscle jumping in his temple. "What did the doctor say?" he prompts, when she doesn't continue.

"Did an exam and an ultrasound," Cameron manages, swallowing again. The nausea is still nearly overwhelming, though it's the least of her concerns now. "The baby—looked okay, but they're still waiting on bloodwork. And my blood pressure was high."

Chase's eyes widen slightly, yet another sign that he isn't as in control at this moment as he'd like to appear. "How high?"

"I don't remember," she admits, ashamed. It's unlike her to forget any details of any exam, much less one so important to herself and her unborn child. "Not—hugely. Enough for concern. They want to keep me overnight, at least. See if things go back to normal, or if I—" Cameron breaks off, unable to voice the possible reality of a miscarriage aloud. All she can think is that if they lose this baby, it will mean the end of everything. There will be no reason for a second try; she's certain their fragile friendship cannot survive such a devastating blow. It will be back to three months ago, to distance and resentment and loss. Worse, the fact that _these_ are her greatest fears makes her feel like a monster, like it would be a just punishment for this miracle child to slip away from her.

"Okay," Chase says quietly, taking an audible breath. He clears his throat and gets to his feet again, as though he's too filled with nervous energy to stay still in the chair. "Okay." He pauses, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning away from her in a gesture Cameron can't quite read. He seems uncertain suddenly. "Do you—want some company while you wait? I'd understand if you wanted to be alone."

"Please," Cameron breathes, at once relieved and surprised. "Please stay." It hasn't occurred to her that he might think he isn't wanted here, that she would want to go through this nightmare alone. And yet she appreciates the choice, the consideration he's showing her now when he could so easily just fall apart. Three years ago she would have taken all of these things for granted, would have assumed he would be supportive always. It's yet another realization of all the ways in which he has changed, and is changing still, making strides toward a kind of healing that has started to surprise her with its depth.

Chase nods slowly, then drapes his lab coat over the back of the chair and comes to the side of her bed. She's watching him slip off his shoes before she realizes what he's doing, and Cameron holds her breath as he gets into the small hospital bed beside her. There isn't enough room to keep any sort of distance, but for once Chase doesn't even try, sliding his arms around her from behind so that one hand rests over her heart, the other against her belly, as though he might be able to offer the baby some of his own strength.

"Is this okay?" he whispers, breath tickling her ear.

"Yes." Cameron turns, craning her neck to look at him over her shoulder, and her breath catches in her throat. Reflected in his face is the absolute tenderness she first fell in love with, the gentle adoration which finally broke through the walls she'd built up around herself all those years ago, and which she'd been so certain he'd lost.

"I'm here, Allison," Chase murmurs, leaning forward a little to rest his forehead against her temple. He's shaking, she notices, but there's a quiet sense of resolve about him. The grit of survival he's been developing since childhood. He is stronger than she will ever know, Cameron realizes, and suddenly her reservations at asking for his help crumble, in their place a desperate gratitude for his presence now.

"Just—try to relax," he continues after a moment, and Cameron lets her eyes slip closed as they fill with tears. Everything is overwhelming. "That's the best thing you can do right now. I know it's easy to panic, but that's not going to help get your BP down."

"We haven't seen the bloodwork yet," Cameron protests quietly, unable to listen to him though she knows he's right. There are still a thousand possibilities racing through her mind, worst case scenarios piling up one on top of another. "We can't know what might still be wrong. If my Rh factor is incompatible—"

"Don't go there yet," Chase interrupts. "We have no reason to think that. And this is your first pregnancy. Most likely not a concern."

"There's still a thousand other things that could go wrong," Cameron argues, suddenly feeling a fresh swell of fear at the prospect of relaxing. She has the irrational sense that if she allows herself to calm down, it might bring on the worst. It will hurt so much more if she allows herself to assume the best outcome and then be disappointed, she knows, has discovered so many times before in her life. Now she hardly recognizes the woman she was when she first moved to Princeton, so filled with hope and idealism. Now those thoughts terrify her.

"And most of those are extremely rare," says Chase gently. "Just because we see extreme cases all the time in our department doesn't make one more likely to happen to you. You have to remember that. Most likely this is nothing but stress. You'll rest for a few days and go on to have a normal pregnancy."

"I don't want to assume—" she begins once more, but Chase silences her with a hand on her cheek.

"Hey," he says softly, shifting slightly to make eye contact, but not letting go. "I get it. As long as you stay panicked, it feels safer. Miserable, but—safer. Less to lose. The moment you relax, you start to attach again, and then if something happens after that—So you're trying to stay afraid until you know it's safe." Very lightly, he traces her lips with the pad of his thumb. "Don't do it. You're trying to protect yourself, but you'll just end up hurting worse."

Something breaks then, as though his words alone—a silent admission in themselves—are enough to bring down the walls she's been trying desperately to build. Cameron turns over in a rush, hiding her face against his shoulder as she starts to cry. Chase adjusts immediately, as though it hasn't been years since they've been this close, hooking his chin over her shoulder and combing his fingers through her hair.

"It's okay," he breathes against her neck, though it's obvious from his tone that he isn't sure those words are really the truth. Still, in this moment it's enough that he's said them, that he's here and willing to try so hard. She recognizes his advice as a confession about himself, the way he's viewed everything since their marriage fell apart. That he's trusted her with this insight into himself means more than any outright reassurance ever could; he has just proven that he still has faith in the future of their child, and in her.

Sniffling, Cameron settles against him, starting to catch her breath. She can't quite capture the sense of calm yet, but her thoughts are beginning to slow. This situation seems manageable once more, though she still feels sick with anxiety.

"Are you okay?" she asks Chase at last, remembering again her initial concerns at asking him for so much so soon.

"Let me do this for you," he answers simply, and she nods, accepting that this is what he wants.

Cameron takes a shaky breath, searching for something else to focus on, at least until her own bloodwork comes back from the lab. "What about the case? I interrupted you in the middle of it. Did either of you find anything?"

Chase shakes his head and starts to say something, but is silenced by the sound of footsteps from the hallway outside. A moment later Cuddy appears in the doorway, looking flustered and angry, an expression previously reserved for House. Chase doesn't even try to move, instinctively tightening his arm around Cameron's waist instead, and she finds herself grateful for the gesture.

"So," says Cuddy after a long moment of tense silence. "_Not_ a completely professional relationship, then."

* * *

Please review!


	35. Chapter 35

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: Happy Valentine's Day, in advance! Also, you might want to check out my profile, since I do update it from time to time.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Five

Cuddy takes two steps across the threshold of the room and stops again, crossing her arms. Chase can feel the tension in Cameron's body shift against his; she'd been starting to relax at last, but now every muscle is taut again, poised as if to ward off a physical attack. His own heart is pounding, chest tight with the familiar feeling of an oncoming panic attack. Trying to swallow it back down, Chase realizes that his fear in this moment is not the result of Cuddy's presence, but out of concern for how upset it's already made Cameron. He'd begun to feel better after his own initial panic, confident this would turn out to be more of a minor setback than a full blown catastrophe. But he knows Cameron needs to find a way to relax and rest, or risk having the baby in further danger.

"You're pregnant," says Cuddy, when a minute has passed and no one has said anything. It isn't a question. She must have been told, Chase knows, would have looked up all of Cameron's medical records instantly upon being tipped off. He's never questioned Cameron's decision to receive prenatal care at PPTH; he doesn't feel deserving of that kind of responsibility yet, even in his own child's life. Now he wonders whether he's made a mistake, let her set herself up for professional disaster, though logically he knows everyone would have found out eventually.

Cameron simply nods after a moment, still seeming too stunned to really respond. Feeling helpless, Chase finds her hand under the covers and squeezes gently, keeping his arm around her waist. He feels overwhelmingly protective, but at the same time afraid to assert himself on her behalf, afraid he'll simply make things worse.

"How far along are you?" Cuddy asks sharply, still not acknowledging Chase. She takes a few steps closer, and Cameron tenses again, breathing shallowly and too fast.

"Almost three months," says Cameron quietly, sounding like she might cry. "Which I assume you knew. You must have read my file. Were you just asking to see if I'd lie to you?"

"I don't really think you're in any position to be making that kind of an accusation," says Cuddy coldly. Chase doesn't think he's seen her this angry in years, not since House got sick, lost his sense of brash rebellion. "When were you planning to tell me?"

"I don't know," Cameron admits. "I hadn't gotten that far yet."

"So you were going to conceal your pregnancy from me indefinitely? Just—wait until I noticed on my own?" The words sound harsher coming from Cuddy's mouth, and Chase feels a surge of anger toward her for making this day even more difficult, for lacking the empathy to put disappointment aside in favor of compassion. He knows she is simply doing her job, has every right to be angry given the situation, yet all he feels is outrage on behalf of the woman and child he doesn't yet dare call family.

"I don't know!" Cameron repeats, looking down at the edge of the blanket she's twisting in her free hand.

"I take it this wasn't a planned pregnancy?" Cuddy presses, unmoved.

"Of course not!" Cameron answers, too quickly, and Chase flinches despite himself. He knows he has no right to resent the speed or strength of her response; it's been months and he's still in no position to consider himself a worthy parent. Moreover he knows how much Cameron cares about their baby, has seen it directly in her panic today. Yet he can't shake the feeling that she must still view his involvement as an accident, a less-than-pleasant means to a fortuitous end. If she loses this baby there is no second chance, he knows, is nothing but another separation which now seems impossibly more painful than the first, though neither of them has committed to anyone but their child.

"You swore to me that your relationship with Chase was completely professional," Cuddy continues, as though she's unaware of how much damage she's doing, or simply doesn't care at the moment. "You've told me that a hundred times! The Board has been breathing down my neck to shut down the Diagnostics department since before House died. I've kept it open because you convinced me that under your management, your team could be effective. I agreed when you recommended I let Chase come back to work, because I trusted your professional judgment. I assumed you were smart enough not to put your career and mine at risk by lying about the nature of your relationship when you told me the two of you were not back together. And now I find out, not even directly from you, that you're pregnant with your employee's child. How can I know that you haven't simply been acting out of your own self interest this entire time? I ought to shut the entire department down right now."

"That's ridiculous!" Chase interrupts at last, too angry to stay silent any longer. "I would think that as dean of medicine, you'd be better at getting the details before jumping to conclusions. Not to mention having professional consideration for an employee who is currently a patient at your hospital."

"Robert," Cameron says quietly, drawing him out of his blind anger and back into the moment, then backwards into memory again as Chase remembers suddenly Dibala's hand on her arm, the fury that moment had awakened in him to forever change their lives."Don't."

Cuddy simply stares at him for a moment, looking taken aback. "Fine. Enlighten me."

"We're not together," Chase says firmly, though he still doesn't move away from Cameron. He's aware this image won't help his case, but he can still feel her shoulders shaking and at the moment that matters a thousand times more than whether or not Cuddy believes him. "We're friends. I've—made a lot of bad decisions. Which you know. Cameron saved my life."

"That's very sweet," says Cuddy, her tone marginally less accusing, but still filled with anger and distrust. "You still both lied to me."

"You have no precedent for shutting down the department," Chase continues, forcing himself to stay calm enough to reason. "Say whatever you want, I was here. I talked to House in the months when he was sick. I know you and he were together in secret then. Not to mention your relationship in the years before. Everyone knows about that. And besides that—We're a good team. We all have a completely professional relationship at work. That's the truth. We're taking more cases per week now than the department ever did under House's leadership. Our paperwork and clinic hours are all in order. You put Cameron in charge because you thought she could manage us, and she has. Even when I didn't want anything to do with it. If you want to punish someone, fine. Fire me. But don't shut the department down. That's not fair to Foreman. He has a family too. And it's not fair to the patients who need our help."

Cuddy studies him for another interminable moment, as though she can't decide what to make of the way things have changed in her hospital over the past four months, then nods curtly. "I'll expect your department's productivity to continue at its present standard. If not improve."

"We can do that," Chase says tightly, already mentally preparing himself to begin working overtime again if it will mean less stress for Cameron.

"I'll look forward to it," says Cuddy, then turns back to Cameron. "Take whatever time off your doctor instructs. I'm not condoning your decisions, but you have the responsibility of being safe, for your baby's sake." Not giving Cameron a chance to answer, Cuddy turns and leaves.

Cameron exhales shakily, leaning heavily against Chase's side, and he's suddenly acutely aware that his arm is still wrapped around her waist, his body pressed against the length of hers. In her earlier panic he'd reacted instinctively, hadn't had the time to second guess himself or pay attention to anything besides her fear. Now he realizes how familiar this feels, being in bed with her, even under such radically different circumstances. The thought sends a thrill of anxiety through him; these feelings keep asserting themselves, creeping up on him when he least expects it, despite his best attempts to maintain some measure of distance between them. If he's honest with himself, he's already begun to trust her. The fear of losing her again is still ever-present in his mind, though he no longer resents her. Still, it feels impossible that he might ever deserve to be happy again, ever be capable of being anything other than a burden in her life, an addition to the stressors which now have put their baby in danger. She deserves better than he will ever be able to give her, he realizes, and he thinks again of House and Stacy.

"Thank you," Cameron says quietly, the warmth of her breath brushing his cheek.

"Why?" asks Chase, feeling certain that they would never be in this awful position were it not for his presence in her life. She wants this baby more than anything, he knows, yet he can't shake the thought that she ought to be doing this with someone else, someone who could be the true partner she needs. Cuddy's anger and disapproval seem undeniable confirmation.

"You're pregnant?" Foreman is in the room before Cameron has had a chance to answer, and Chase jumps, surprised. He supposes he ought to have expected this; now that the secret is out, it's sure to spread through the hospital like wildfire.

"Go away," says Chase, exhausted suddenly from the morning's adrenaline, and even more concerned about Cameron's ability to relax.

Foreman pulls the chair up to Cameron's side of the bed and sits. "So when you said you didn't do anything to her..."

"Sorry," Chase says dryly, seeing immediately where Foreman is going with this. It's frustrating, but a relief after Cuddy's anger. "Didn't realize sex was included in your list of possibilities."

"I'm right here," says Cameron, looking disgusted, but she sounds noticeably calmer. They are both used to Foreman's constant ornery judgment. It's more familiar than anything else, almost a comfort.

"What are you going to do?" asks Foreman, leaning back in his chair a little.

"I'm having the baby," says Cameron, then seems to remember where she is, face falling. "I mean, assuming—I'm still waiting on bloodwork. But so far—"

"You'll be fine," says Foreman confidently.

"You can't know that," says Cameron, biting her lip.

Foreman sighs, looking at his hands for an uncharacteristically hesitant moment, then back up again. "I can. I looked at your file."

"Great," says Cameron, though she sounds more frustrated than truly angry. "Maybe we could post my chart on the bulletin board in the atrium."

"We could do that," says Foreman. "Then the whole hospital would know that your bloodwork is normal."

"You saw it?" Chase sits up, suddenly filled with a fresh wave of adrenaline.

Foreman nods. "They'll probably still keep you overnight to make sure your BP comes down."

"Which it's not going to if everyone keeps harassing her," Chase says sourly, but he's filled with relief at the news.

Cameron covers her face with her hands, exhaling with effort, and Chase lays a hand against her back, wondering whether she's crying. "Thank you, Foreman," she manages after a moment, still not looking up.

"I guess I should say congratulations," says Foreman.

"You should," says Chase, suddenly resenting the fact that they are being judged for this, that no one else regards Cameron's pregnancy as the miracle he does.

"Congratulations," Foreman deadpans.

"How's the patient?" asks Cameron, seeming eager to turn the conversation away from herself now.

"Crashed again right after Chase left," says Foreman, turning much more serious again. "Bled out another two units for no apparent reason, and was unable to clot on her own. She's being given another transfusion now. I think we're looking at a bleeding disorder."

"Or something compromising her ability to clot," says Chase, frowning. Suddenly he remembers their argument about the patient's ex-husband and his accusations.

"Like a bleeding disorder?" Foreman mocks.

"Or a toxin," says Cameron, surprising Chase by voicing his thoughts before he's managed to. "You didn't think this fit with a suicide attempt. Are you suggesting the ex-husband might be poisoning her?"

"I think it's an awfully big coincidence that he accused her of taking something, and now her symptoms fit the ingestion of some kind of poison," says Chase carefully. "But I didn't find anything in the tox screen. If we can't talk to the patient, I think someone needs to talk to the ex-husband."

Foreman sighs and nods, getting up. "I guess that would be me."

"You should go too," says Cameron, surprising Chase.

"You don't want me here?" he asks reflexively, without realizing exactly what he's said.

"Of course I want you here," says Cameron, softening. "But I'll be okay for a few hours. Our patient could bleed out anytime if we don't figure out what's wrong. Go do your job for a while."

Chase takes a breath and nods, slipping back into his shoes and getting to his feet. "I'll see you later. Get some sleep."

She nods, and Chase starts to follow Foreman before turning back and lightly kissing Cameron's forehead.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	36. Chapter 36

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: Sorry for the late posting time. Long day at work.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Six

Cameron manages to nap for barely more than an hour, despite being exhausted. She hasn't slept well since Chase moved back to the condo, instead lying awake and worrying about his inability to rest. It's almost as if his nightmares are contagious; it isn't that she distrusts him as a person, but she remains fearful that his emotional traumas are too great, his memories too powerful to overcome, and she's acutely aware of how easy it would be for him to simply slip back into addiction to escape.

The rest of the afternoon and evening she spends lying awake, staring at the wall and trying too hard to catch fragments of conversation from people passing in the hallway. At least two other women are on this ward after miscarrying, she learns, and another is being prepared for an emergency c-section. She tries to stop listening when that information stirs a fresh wave of adrenaline in the pit of her stomach, but she can't help picturing herself in place of those women, how close she's come to disaster today.

Then her mind wanders to her team's patient, and her inability to be at work leading the differential. Cameron knows she has no reason to be guilty, yet she can't help worrying about how much Foreman and Chase have been at odds since he came back to work. Ordinarily she would trust either of them with her own life, but together now she worries that they will distract each other and miss the diagnosis. By the time afternoon has stretched into evening, her anxiety has become almost overpowering again, compounding itself every time she thinks about her elevated blood pressure. It's nearly seven when Chase comes back. Cameron is lying on her side facing away from him, wrapped up in mental disaster scenarios, and his footsteps make her jump.

"Hey," he says quietly, coming around to her side of the bed. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

Cameron shakes her head and sits up against the pillows, grimacing when her back protests. The soreness hasn't gone away, though it hasn't progressed into cramping either. Logically she knows this means it's far more likely that she was right in her initial assumption that she's simply slept wrong, but with every twinge comes the fresh fear of an imminent miscarriage. "I was just starting to think you'd changed your mind about coming back tonight. Or gotten held up at work."

"Our patient has systemic mastocytosis," says Chase, moving the chair from where Foreman left it earlier and taking a seat. "We did more bloodwork after she crashed for the third time. Her levels of histamine and heparin were off the chart. Turns out, she was prescribed a new antidepressant just before the divorce proceedings began. That, combined with the adrenaline from the hearing, triggered the mast cells in her body to go out of control. What looked like passing out was actually anaphylactic shock. The drop in BP and her inability clot due to the heparin produced by the mast cell reaction were responsible for the bleeding."

Cameron blinks at him, momentarily shocked by their success in solving such a complex case in a matter of a few hours, especially after she's spent the entire time silently doubting them. "Who figured that out?"

Chase shrugs. "We both did."

"So you and Foreman--" Cameron frowns.

"We're fine, Allison," Chase says gently. "He's just—being the way he is. You know he's never been easy to be friends with. Now he's got a dying wife at home too."

Cameron smiles weakly. "And here I've been worrying you two would kill each other while I was gone."

"Sorry," Chase says softly, surprising her with the sincerity in his voice. She hasn't really meant it as an accusation, but the apology alone seems further proof that her concerns were unwarranted. "Would've been here sooner, but I went to pick some things up for you."

Suddenly Cameron notices the bags he's brought with him; she's been too preoccupied to really look at him, to realize that he's changed out of his work clothes.

"I got dinner," says Chase, showing her a takeout bag from the diner across the street. "Figured I'd pay you back for breakfast the other day. And I thought you might want something better than a hospital gown to sleep in." He reaches into the duffel bag by his feet and pulls out a pair of her pajamas, handing them over.

"You broke into my apartment?" Cameron asks immediately, both surprised and touched.

Chase flushes, looking slightly taken aback at her phrasing. "Thought you'd want to have this stuff, and I know you don't like having a spare key. Wanted to surprise you." He shrugs again. "Maybe I spent too long working for House."

"Thank you," Cameron answers sincerely, quickly slipping out of her hospital gown and into the shorts and t-shirt he's brought. Chase turns his gaze away, she notices, though she hasn't asked him to, and doesn't consider his presence an invasion of her privacy. She's seen him in far more vulnerable states lately, and she's forced to admit a part of her craves the intimacy forced between them by physical weakness. It grieves her to think that stolen moments in the midst of illness are the nearest now that they'll ever get to the absolute closeness and trust of their marriage. Still, she's seen how fragile Chase's progress still is, and doesn't dare ask for anything that might jeopardize his strides toward emotional health. It's for the best that they keep their distance, she tells herself. And he's made it more than clear that he isn't interested besides.

"Brought this too," says Chase when she's finished, and Cameron turns back to see him holding the threadbare blue sweatshirt she's stolen from his laundry so many times in the past. He looks hopeful now as he holds it out, but hesitant too, and she wonders whether he can sense the profound confusion he's aroused in her. "I thought it might—help you relax. I don't know. You don't have to wear it."

"No, it's—perfect," Cameron breathes, taking it from him and slipping it over her head. It smells like him, and she wonders suddenly whether he's worn it recently. Crossing her arms and letting her hands be swallowed in the oversized sleeves, she tries not to remember what it was like being in bed with him just a few hours ago, how his arm around her waist had seemed capable of warding off all her fears.

"How are you feeling?" Chase asks, clearing his throat. "I should have asked you that before. I just assumed, since you hadn't said anything, and no one called me--"

"I'm okay," Cameron interrupts, suddenly regretting the fact that she didn't call him as soon as the doctor had seen her in the afternoon. "I got the results of the bloodwork, officially. All negative, like Foreman said. And I haven't had any more bleeding. So officially I've been diagnosed with a threatened miscarriage. They'll let me go home in the morning if my blood pressure is normal. I have to be on bed rest for a week. And no sex until next month, at least." Cameron freezes the moment the words are out of her mouth, instantly wondering why she's chosen to include the last sentence. It was part of the doctor's orders, true, but there is absolutely no reason why it should be relevant enough for Chase to be informed.

"That's good," he says quickly. "I mean that—shouldn't be a problem." Chase swallows visibly, looking at his feet. "Should it?"

"No," Cameron answers emphatically, suddenly unable to stop remembering that day on her couch in vivid detail. She's acutely aware that if she's recalling these images, he must be as well. "I mean, I wasn't planning on having sex with anyone anytime soon."

"Good," says Chase, fidgeting awkwardly in the chair. "That's good. I mean—that you'll be able to follow your doctor's orders."

"You brought dinner?" Cameron asks, eager to change the subject, though she isn't hungry in the least now.

"Yes," says Chase, and dives for the takeout bag, seeming enormously relieved at having something to do. Pulling out the tray table from the side of the bed, he arranges a milkshake, two sandwiches, an enormous order of cheese fries, and a very large slice of key lime pie.

Watching, Cameron raises her eyebrows. "That's a lot of food. Even for us to share."

"We're sharing it with the baby too," Chase protests. "And I know you haven't eaten all day. I talked to the nurse."

"It still has to fit in my stomach," Cameron argues, though she has to admit the smell of the food is making her hungry now, reminding her body that she hasn't had anything since the previous night.

They eat in silence, though the tension of a few minutes before has eased. The food is a familiar comfort, and Cameron wonders suddenly how it is that she hasn't been back to the diner since returning to Princeton. In her heart she knows it's because they used to frequent it after work, sometimes even several nights a week. It's one more place that seems filled with too many memories of things lost, bliss they can never again recapture or revisit. But now, in this room with Chase sitting beside her bed, the food seems to fill her with warmth, finally cleansing her body of the sick panic that's been churning her stomach all day.

When most of the food is finished, Chase packs up the leftovers and hands the milkshake to her, then gets reluctantly to his feet. "If you don't need anything else, I should probably get going. You need to get some sleep tonight."

"You're leaving?" asks Cameron, at once surprised and disappointed. She hasn't thought far enough ahead to consciously realize that she's been assuming he'll spend the night, but now that he's prepared to go, she's filled with a fresh wave of dread.

"Thought I'd go check on the patient again," Chase says, unconvincingly. "I can sleep in the surgical lounge, if you want. I'll just be a few minutes away if you need me."

"Please stay here?" The words are out of her mouth before she realizes she's given them voice, the desire so strong in her mind. Cameron looks down at a wrinkle in the sheet, smoothing it meticulously. "I know that everything's seemed okay so far, but if I fall asleep and something happens—I'd just feel better if I wasn't alone right now."

Chase frowns, already on his feet, looking pained. "That's—not a good idea."

"Why?" asks Cameron, trying not to sound hurt. It feels like a rejection, as hard as she tries to make it impersonal.

"I—don't sleep well," Chase says, sounding almost shy. He shoves his hands into his pockets. "You know that. Don't want to disturb you if I--" He breaks off and looks away, clearly ashamed.

"If you wake up in a panic," Cameron finishes, remembering his nightmares when he was staying at her apartment. She has a feeling she still hasn't seen the full extent of them; even in the vulnerability of sickness, he's tried his hardest to hide his weaknesses from her.

"Yeah," Chase says quietly, still not looking at her.

"I think that sounds like a good reason why you shouldn't be alone right now either," Cameron offers gently. "Seriously, I don't care if you wake me up. Maybe—I can help you."

Chase looks at her for a long moment, then bites his lip and nods. Cameron holds the sheets aside for him as he crawls into the bed, looking even more exhausted than she feels. At first he is rigid, tense, trying to stay perched on the edge so as not to touch her in the small space. Rolling over, Cameron lays a hand on his arm, feeling his muscles twitch.

"Relax," she coaxes quietly. "It's just me."

Chase snorts softly, his smile filled with irony. "You've never been _just_ you. Not to me." But he does relax, shifting closer to her on the bed so that their shoulders touch, the space of a few inches separating their faces on the pillow.

"You stopped coming to bed," Cameron says, not knowing how to respond to his admission. It's dangerous to think about, to examine too closely. Too easy to find false hope in the assumption that he might still someday be willing to try again with her. "After Dibala. At first that was how I knew—something was wrong. You always used to wake me up to cuddle. Suddenly it was like—you weren't even there. Even when you were."

Chase inhales sharply, but doesn't pull away. "Just felt—paralyzed. Like everything I touched would somehow be damned because of me. I knew I didn't deserve to be happy. But I never meant for it to hurt you."

"How could I be happy if you weren't?" Cameron whispers, reaching out to finger a lock of hair that's fallen into his eyes.

Chase squeezes his eyes closed for a moment. "Told Foreman I did it because I found out Dibala was planning for genocide. Truth is, even after that, I could've done nothing and still lived with myself. But then he threatened you, and I--" He breaks off, shaking. "There's nothing noble about what I did."

Cameron freezes, shocked and at a loss. This admission doesn't change the fact that she forgives him for the act itself; that has never been the problem. But the irony of this truth is agonizing, and she finds herself wondering for the millionth time how things might have gone differently, how she might have found the strength within herself to stay with him just a little longer. Long enough to see through his defenses.

"I'm sorry," Chase continues, when she hasn't said anything. "I didn't want you to know that. You shouldn't—feel like any of this is your fault."

"I left," says Cameron simply.

"I deserved it," Chase answers, surprising her. He sounds bitter now, but it isn't directed at her. "I shut you out. Completely. I didn't care what you thought, as long as you didn't figure out the truth. Anything else seemed more forgivable. God. I was so afraid of losing you that I just—ruined us."

"I'm here now," Cameron says sadly, though it almost hurts more, knowing how different this moment is from everything they used to have.

"I know," Chase answers.

"What about now?" asks Cameron, feeling breathless. "Do you think you deserve to be happy?"

"I know I don't," he says darkly. "But—God, I want to."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated! (Holy crap, over 500! You guys never cease to amaze me. Thank you so much.)


	37. Chapter 37

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Seven

"New case," says Foreman as he sweeps through the door on Monday morning. He throws the file onto the table with a loud snap of pages colliding, and Chase jumps.

The days have dragged on in Cameron's absence, though he's secretly grateful that she's finally forced to be getting the rest he's thought she's needed all along. Without work to distract her, she has no excuse but to focus on her own health and on the baby, time he's convinced she desperately needs. Over the past few months, he's watched her overextend herself in every direction possible, so that a part of him has been dreading stress-related complications all along. He knows without a doubt that Cameron already loves the baby, but Chase is equally aware that she has never known how to turn down responsibilities, even to her own detriment. Guiltily, he's certain he's contributed more than anyone else to her strain, and though he misses her terribly, he's determined to keep his distance at least until she's back at work, for fear of hindering her recovery with his mere presence in her life.

Groaning, Chase reaches out and catches the edge of the file between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it toward himself. Still unable to sleep without the constant interruption of nightmares, he's spent the majority of the weekend taking extra shifts in the ER, and thinking of all the times in the past he'd gone there to visit Cameron at work. Now the long hours are catching up again, and his eyes struggle to focus through the haze of exhaustion, the words blurring on the page.

"Don't sound so enthusiastic," says Foreman, starting a pot of coffee.

"I'm so excited," Chase deadpans, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Are you hungover?" Foreman asks, coming over and setting his mug on the edge of the table before returning to the whiteboard and uncapping a marker.

"No," Chase snaps, offended as usual, but no longer surprised by the suspicion. "I'm tired. You know, that thing that happens when you don't sleep? And you're not my boss. Cameron didn't put you in charge. We're supposed to be working as a team."

Foreman rolls his eyes. "Fine. You want the markers?"

"No," says Chase, turning a page of the file. "Just want you to stop acting like a pompous ass. It's too early for that."

"You talked to Cameron recently?" asks Foreman, ignoring the comment.

"Yeah," Chase answers carefully. "Called her this morning to check in. Said she was feeling fine. Didn't really talk about anything else."

"Because you're not together," says Foreman sarcastically. It's clear he doesn't believe anything Chase has to say on the matter, though they've discussed it nearly every day since she was released from the hospital. He's continued to attempt to convince Foreman for posterity's sake, because it is the truth, and he knows it's what Cameron wants, though he has to admit a small part of him likes the idea that they could still be mistaken for a couple, perhaps one day for a happy family.

"We're not," says Chase, reaching the third page of the file before realizing he has absolutely no idea what he's reading about. It's as though the words have registered in his mind only as individual entities; he's read them, yet they have no meaning. Sighing, he turns back to the beginning again.

"She say whether she's coming back to work tomorrow?" asks Foreman, evidently not as eager to start on the case as he'd initially tried to appear.

Chase shrugs. "Didn't ask. Assume so. That was the plan." In truth he feels a swell of anxiety over the likelihood, at once because he very much wants Cameron back at work, and because the possibility of further complications resulting terrifies him.

"I don't believe you," says Foreman. "You must have talked to her more than that. You seriously expect me to believe you've just been calling to ask about her vitals and then hanging up?"

"Yes," says Chase, feeling defensive, though it's the truth. In all honesty, he doesn't know how to talk to Cameron now without feeling as though he's burdening her with the hardships he still can't seem to recover from. And though he wishes she would confide in him, so far she hasn't, and Chase doesn't dare ask. He wants desperately to be able to help her in some way, but is too afraid of failure even to try. "Can we please talk about the case? Thought you were all about efficiency this morning."

"Then you're not friends," says Foreman authoritatively. "Or at least you're not being a very good friend to her. If all you ever do is call to check up on her, you might as well just be her obstetrician."

"Yeah," snaps Chase, insulted because he knows that Foreman is probably right, though he feels helpless to do anything about it. Sometime in the past three years it seems he's forgotten how to have real relationships; every step of the way he's equally terrified of being hurt again and of getting too close and inadvertently hurting someone else. "You're the authority on friendship. Richard Morrow, thirty-four year old white male. Started feeling lightheaded while swimming on a trip to the shore."

"Do you actually want this baby?" Foreman writes 'lightheaded' on the board in precise letters. "Or are you just trying to be supportive in yet another attempt at redemption?"

"Of course I do!" Chase explodes, momentarily dropping the file in shock. Of all the assumptions made about him, this has to be the worst. "God, what do you think I am?"

Foreman shrugs, unfazed by the outburst. "I think you're obsessed with your own guilt. You have to make everything about that. About your struggle to live with yourself. I definitely _don't_ think you're ready to be a father. You say that you and Cameron are friends, that you're going to be there for her. But you're not there for her. So either you're doing this out of some misguided sense of obligation, or you're emotionally running away. Either way, you'd better figure it out quickly."

"The patient's wife called an ambulance after she noticed that his lips were turning blue," Chase continues reading from the chart, gritting his teeth. This discussion is quickly getting out of control; now what he desperately needs is to steer the focus back onto another subject or risk an outright panic attack. "Paramedics reported that his hands and feet were red and swollen. Patient was taken to the nearest ER, where he was also diagnosed with tachycardia. All tests were negative, and his symptoms went away during the next few hours, after which he was released."

"Allergy to something that stung him in the ocean?" suggests Foreman, finishing the list on the board. "If Cameron decides to leave again, it'll be your own fault. Just like last time."

Chase flinches. "The ER examined him. Said there were no signs of a sting or a bite. And stay out of my personal life. Don't you have your own marriage to worry about?"

"I don't worry about my marriage," says Foreman, a clear air of superiority in his voice now. "So far that's worked out just fine for me. Has the patient seen a cardiologist? Could be an underlying heart condition."

"Your wife has a progressive fatal illness and you don't worry? Sounds like you're in denial." It's both nasty and a cheap shot, Chase knows, but his own anger is starting to get the better of him, Foreman's constant digs threatening his control. "And no. The ER gave him a referral, but he never went. A few weeks later, the same thing happened on another trip to the shore. So now his wife made him come to us. Because she was worried. Understandably."

"It doesn't say that in the chart," Foreman scoffs.

Chase shrugs. "No. But it does say his wife wanted him to come in."

"We should do a stress test," Foreman decides. "And an EKG. And maybe we should do an allergy panel as well. Maybe he was allergic to something in the water."

"Like what? Salt?" Chase closes the file and stands, glad to be getting out of the office at least for a little while. It's started to feel claustrophobic with just himself, Foreman, and far too much history. "Think he'd have noticed that by now."

Foreman rolls his eyes. "Sea water during the peak of vacation season? Who knows what's floating around in it. Maybe he swallowed some of the water, and it had an allergen in it. If his reaction was severe enough, it would only take a little. You should know that."

"Fine," says Chase, just eager to get away from Foreman at this point. "I'll do the stress test and EKG, you do the allergy panel."

Foreman nods. "If only we had an immunologist."

Ignoring him, Chase turns and leaves.

–

Cameron feels a strange sense of trepidation as she steps off the elevator, as though everyone around her will somehow know that she isn't technically supposed to be back at work for another twelve hours. But Cuddy's expectations are still fresh in her mind, and she's worried about the department's performance in her extended absence, despite Chase's assurance a week ago that he is capable of working with Foreman. Chase has been noticeably careful not to mention work in his exceptionally brief phone calls, and she wonders whether that is a bad sign, whether he's keeping something from her. And she doesn't think she can stay at home a moment longer besides. Her week of rest has been ironically stressful, leaving her feeling more isolated than ever before in her life.

Foreman and Chase are both in the office with their backs to her when she reaches the doors, and Cameron pauses for a moment in the hallway, watching them. They are deep in discussion, a constellation of symptoms listed on the board.

She feels an unexpected stab of resentment toward Chase; she's tried hard to remind herself that he was supportive when there was a true emergency, that it's unreasonable to expect more than that from him yet. After all, their agreement upon learning of her pregnancy was that he would be truly committed only to the baby. To her he is only a friend, and she has no right to expect more, she's tried to tell herself. Still, the sting of disappointment is becoming more salient by the day, and she's had nothing but time to think about it.

"No underlying heart condition," Chase is saying as Cameron finally steps through the door, closing it behind herself as quietly as possible. Neither of them turns yet, too deeply engrossed in the discussion to notice.

"His hand swelled almost as soon as he put it in the bucket," says Foreman, staring at the whiteboard. Cameron reads the symptoms silently over his shoulder, trying to read between the lines in her mind, though she's sure she's missing crucial information. "But that was fresh water. Actually, it was the deionized water from the lab. Very unlikely it would have had anything in it that was also in the ocean water."

"Angiodema is indicative of an allergic reaction," says Chase. "His hand swelled so fast. He could have gone into anaphylaxis if we'd let him stay in the water."

"So, what, you think he's allergic to _water_?" asks Foreman incredulously. "Pretty sure he'd be dead by now."

"How cold was the water?" asks Cameron, breaking her silence at last.

Chase whirls to face her, nearly falling out of his chair in his hurry. His expression is a mixture of shock and anger which catches her off guard. "What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow."

"I thought I would come in for a few hours," says Cameron warily, taking a few steps further into the office, still surprised to feel unwelcome here. "Just—wanted to see how things were going." Foreman is looking back and forth between the two of them, with an expression that says he would rather be anywhere else at this moment.

"So you thought you'd come check up on us," Chase snaps, getting to his feet to face her fully. "Just ignore your doctor's orders."

"By less than twenty-four hours!" Cameron protests, feeling attacked. She's suddenly certain that something is terribly wrong, if not at work then with him personally, and her thoughts instantly return to the possibility that he might have started drinking again. "I can sit on my couch at home, or I can sit in a chair here, and maybe help you with the case. I'm already here, so it's pointless to argue!"

"We don't need your help with the case," Chase insists. "And you're supposed to be resting. Avoiding stress. You could be putting the baby in danger by being here."

"I think I'm going to take an early lunch," says Foreman disgustedly, and leaves.

"Are you drinking again?" Cameron asks bluntly, too worried to delay the question any longer. He seems so drastically different than a week ago, the gentle support verging on outright tenderness he'd shown her then so completely gone that she wonders now whether she's misinterpreted everything between them. Suddenly her fears return in force; it seems so painfully obvious now that he's only allowed their relationship to change because he wants to be closer to his child. His affections have been aimed only at the baby, she thinks now, a cruel trick of her imagination making her hope to regain some kind of intimacy with him.

"No!" Chase flinches as though she's slapped him, his face hardening into the mask of anger and bitterness she recognizes from the days after she first returned to Princeton. "God, what is this? You think I'm going to fail the second I don't have you breathing down my neck? Good to know."

"What, because you haven't been checking up on me?" Cameron asks, closing the distance between them and forcing herself to meet his gaze, seething now. "I spend a week stuck at home, and all you can do is call for thirty seconds to make sure I haven't lost the baby yet. And oh, by the way, if I'm not following the doctor's orders to the letter, I'm the worst mother ever!"

"Right," Chase snaps sarcastically. "Like you wanted to talk to me."

"Of course I wanted to talk to you!" Cameron catches her breath, instantly ashamed of the admission, overwhelmed by bitterness and regret for all the things they've lost. Suddenly she feels as though she will never be able to make up for the failure of their marriage; he will never truly forgive her for leaving, no matter how hard she tries to heal their relationship. "I know you've been worried about the baby, but it would have been nice to feel like maybe you cared about me too. Even Cuddy called to ask if I needed anything. But you—You just wanted to make sure I was being a good patient and keeping my BP down. Which, by the way, this isn't helping."

"I was just—trying to do what was best for the baby," Chase stammers, then seems to realize exactly what he's said. "And for you."

"Right," Cameron manages, swallowing down tears of disappointment and betrayal. The last thing she can stand now is to cry in front of him, to let him see how much this confirmation has hurt. "Thanks for that."

Chase doesn't react this time, simply looking stunned.

She makes it nearly to the door before the list of symptoms on the board intrudes on her thoughts again, an epiphany in the worst possible moment, and she turns back quickly to face him again. "Your patient is allergic to the cold," Cameron says flatly. "Which you could have known in about five minutes, had you bothered to call me for a consult."

This time she doesn't look back, doesn't slow down until she reaches her car in the parking garage.

* * *

If you're considering killing me, at least wait a couple chapters, okay? =p Feedback is always appreciated!


	38. Chapter 38

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: If you want to follow me on Twitter, I'm enigma731 there also. I highly recommend it for much discussion of fic, fandom, and occasionally spoilers. My account is unlocked now, but I'd appreciate knowing who you are if you add me!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Standing in the hallway facing Cameron's door, Chase has an almost overwhelming sense of anxious dejva vu, remembering being in this position just a few months ago, when he'd come with the sickly azalea, and an intention to help her move in. He'd been crushed then by her overheard conversation with Foreman, broken beneath the weight of misunderstandings, painful assumptions, and secrets still unspoken. Now he stands on her doorstep again, listening tot he late-summer rain beating down on the building's roof, a miniature rose plant in his arms.

He is filled with trepidation, the thought that Foreman is right, that he's let his fears keep him at a distance for far too long, and that everything might already be lost. He's left work early, after Foreman's promise to complete the paperwork himself. Chase has felt sick with guilt from the moment Cameron stormed out of the diagnostics office, horrified at himself and his weaknesses. In truth he's known deep down all along that he was running away, rationalizing his fears to convince himself that staying away was the best thing for Cameron's wellbeing. He sees now how much of a mistake he's made, leaving her alone when abandonment is what he fears most himself. Taking a deep breath, Chase finally forces himself to reach out and knock, immediately taking a step backward.

It takes Cameron too long to answer the door; Chase can't really say how much time actually passes, but it's enough for his anxiety to begin souring into panic. By the time she opens it, all he can hear is his own heart pounding in his head, the world begins to spin as it becomes harder to breathe. But he forces himself to swallow the sensations down, tells himself this is likely his only chance to make things right with her. If he runs away now, there will be no future, and he will have once again ruined every last shred of his own hope.

"What are you doing here?" she asks after a moment of simply staring at him in stunned silence. She looks terrible, in pajamas already though it's barely past dinnertime. Her cheeks are marked with creases from the bedsheets, and she looks as though she's been crying for a very long time.

Chase swallows a fresh wave of guilt, momentarily unable to speak. In his silence, Cameron's eyes harden into anger, the same betrayal he saw in her just hours before in the diagnostics office.

"Did you come to check up on me?" she continues, her face twisting into a sneer, the softness he's so accustomed to seeing in her utterly gone. He's reminded suddenly of her frustrated confusion after Dibala's death, when she'd known he was keeping secrets, but not their full extent, when she'd become convinced that he'd been having an affair. "Make sure I actually came home to obey my doctor's orders? Because it's really important for me to carry out my last twelve hours of imprisonment. And I thought I made it pretty clear that I don't need or want that from you."

"I came to apologize," Chase manages at last, quietly. It takes every ounce of the newfound strength he's amassed in the past few months—paradoxically gained with her help—to keep himself from lashing out in return, getting caught again in the cycle of unfair assumptions and bitterness. This is his fault, he tells himself, _his_ mistake to own. In the beginning he'd thought that staying in Princeton was the only way to truly conquer demons, recapture his sanity, even if it cost the remains of his crumbling marriage. Now he sees finally that it's Cameron he's needed to face up to all along, in so many monumental ways beginning with this one. _She_ has been simultaneously his salvation and his downfall, and though he still can't say that they have any kind of future, he knows without question that he must make things right in every way possible.

Cameron eyes him warily, as though she's afraid of deception, expecting to be hurt again. "Why? You could have done that earlier if you really wanted to. Don't worry, I'm not petty enough to shut you out of your child's life just because I'm jealous. I don't want an apology that isn't sincere."

"You didn't give me a chance earlier," Chase continues, forcing himself to stay focused, though his mind is suddenly racing off in an entirely new direction at her admission of jealousy.

It seems impossible that anyone—especially Cameron—could be jealous of his affections now. He cannot allow himself to accept that fact that she is devastated by the false belief that he doesn't care about her. The implications are too staggering, especially now, when all he can think about is how much he loves her. And yet he's still too afraid of the possibility for future ruin, of how fragile she seems in the wake of her near-miscarriage. He knows all too well how easy it would be for things to fall apart once more, for his demons to destroy both her life and their child's.

Slowly, carefully, Chase holds out the rose plant to her, keeping the other bag he's brought with him at his side. Cameron simply looks at it uncertainly for a moment before taking it, as though she's unsure of how to interpret its meaning.

"What's this for?" she asks at last, though her anger is gone now, replaced by an odd and unexpected vulnerability, as though she's afraid to trust the sincerity of his peace offering.

"I let all our plants die when you left," Chase says, swallowing again. "And I know you haven't had time to get any new ones for your apartment here. So I thought—I could help you get started."

Lifting the plant to her nose, Cameron breathes in its scent silently, eyes half-closed, before looking at him again. "Thank you."

"Can we please talk?" Chase asks cautiously, still on the verge of losing control of the myriad emotions this day has stirred up in him again.

Cameron nods at last, and steps back, carrying the rose plant over to her coffee table. Chase follows slowly, feeling as though any moment this could explode again. His skin is crawling with adrenaline, little prickles of anxiety at the nape of his neck. There is a nest of blankets on the couch, and he wonders suddenly how much of the week she's spent out here, and whether she's endured it expecting disaster. The azalea plant is resting on an end table, Chase notices, and is barely recognizable for all the pale green new growth sprouting from once-dying roots.

"I'm sorry," he says at last, forcing himself to meet her gaze. He feels as though he is baring his soul, asking to be judged in a way he hasn't been able to face since his attempt at confession so many years ago. "I'm sorry I left you alone. I'm sorry I didn't ask you more on the phone. I had no idea you would think that I didn't care about you. I just—knew that you got sick because you were stressed, and God knows I've been the biggest stress in your life since you came back here. I was afraid you'd feel like you had to take care of me, if I was around. Because I still—kind of suck at taking care of myself. I feel like I've been such a burden to you for such a long time. I just wanted to make sure you had some time to yourself, for once. I never wanted you to be miserable."

Cameron responds immediately, closing the distance between them in two long strides and wrapping her arms around his waist. Chase nearly loses his balance in surprise, knees feeling weak at the sudden enormity of relief as he threads his fingers into her hair, drawing her closer. Cameron turns her face into his shoulder, and it takes him a moment to realize that she's crying quietly.

"God, I'm sorry," Chase repeats softly, leaning to kiss the crown of her head before he's even realized what he's doing. For a moment it feels entirely natural, almost easy like before. But then he remembers how he's landed himself in this position, how close they've come to complete disaster yet again. He is certain he will never again truly be able to trust himself in any kind of relationship; even friendship seems like a terrible risk for everyone involved.

"You scared me," Cameron says at last, stepping back and wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her pajama top. She looks small, vulnerable, and somehow very young.

"What do you mean?" asks Chase, a leaden noose of dread coiling itself in the pit of his stomach once more.

"Because I love you," Cameron whispers, barely audibly. "And I thought you didn't care."

Chase flinches, instantly overwhelmed, feeling entirely unable to respond. He wants at once to run as far away as he can, from the possibility, from the hope, from the chance to be left broken again. But at the same time he is so agonizingly tempted to simply embrace the possibility, to believe in spite of everything that happiness might still be somewhere within reach. He is not ready to decide, he realizes, and he stays frozen, caught in the moment.

"I'm not asking for anything," Cameron continues quickly, when the tension raised by her confession has begun to get uncomfortable. "I'm not—saying—that this should _be_ anything. God, there are a million reasons why it can't ever be. I just—needed you to know."

Chase nods, at once immensely relieved and terribly disappointed that this moment has come and gone again. They are still in limbo, safe but unfulfilling. For now it will have to be enough, he tells himself. He's come here tonight barely daring to hope they'll be able to hold onto a friendship, after all. For the sake of his sanity, and the stability of his child's future, he doesn't dare dream of anything more. There is still so much left to prove.

"I brought you ice cream, too," Chase offers at last, taking a shaky breath and willing himself back into the present moment.

"You—what?" she stammers, still looking utterly stunned by her own words, as though she can't believe this night is really happening either. Everything feels surreal, gray, dulled by the delicate pattering of the rain on the rooftop. It makes a haze on the horizon as the sun sets burnt orange outside Cameron's big living room window.

"Ice cream," Chase repeats, pulling the tub from its bag to show her. "Thought this might be a good night for it." He's traveled to three different grocery stores to find the mint chocolate cookie flavor he remembers is her guilty pleasure. Cameron usually scorns anything with added fat or sugar, but he'd caught her eating this ice cream after several brutal ER shifts before getting her confess it has always been her comfort food.

"You didn't have to do that," Cameron says, but she manages a weak smile.

"Yeah, I did," Chase insists gently, setting it on the edge of the coffee table. "Although we should probably hurry up and eat it. If you've forgiven me enough to share any, that is."

"I'll get some spoons," she answers, her smile growing slowly.

Chase holds up a hand to stop her, suddenly remembering. "Wait. There's one more thing."

"Seriously?" Cameron asks, sounding incredulous, though vaguely excited.

Digging into his bag one more time, Chase pulls out the DVD case of _Serendipity_, offering it to her with a mock grimace. "You left this in the player at the condo. And I noticed you never replaced it. I thought—you might want it back."

Cameron's hand shakes as she takes the DVD from him, and her expression says she's known all along exactly where it's been. But she doesn't seem saddened by having it back now.

"I'll let you subject me to watching it with you, if you want," he offers, hoping to make her smile again. "I think that would be appropriate punishment for the past week." In truth he likes the movie, finds her secret propensity for trashy romance novels and chick flicks endearing, but it's always been their game to pretend it's all to his chagrin.

"Okay," she answers softly, after a moment, then disappears into the kitchen in search of spoons.

Cameron falls asleep on his shoulder halfway through the movie, and Chase finds himself watching her face instead, thinking about distance and fate, unlikely miracles. When the credits roll, he shuts off the television and sits in silence for another few moments before working up the courage to pull the afghan from the back of her couch again, this time wrapping it around both of them. Leaning down, Chase brushes a feather-light kiss against her lips, aware that in sleep she will never know.

Then, he reaches over and switches off the lamp, sitting in the darkness to listen to the echoes of nearby thunder and far away confessions of love.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	39. Chapter 39

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: Seriously, you should follow me on Twitter. I want to get to know you guys! I promise I don't bite.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Cameron has been back at work for just over two weeks when Wilson appears in her office, silently placing a takeout cup from the cafeteria on her desk before pulling out the chair across from hers and sitting. She looks up uncertainly from the paperwork she's been filling out, bracing herself for a fresh interrogation. Chase and Foreman are in the lab, running bloodwork for their latest case. Cameron has been trying to keep a low profile since returning to work; she's too aware of the gossip surrounding her pregnancy, but so far has chosen not to address it, instead hoping it will run its course. Now she assumes Wilson is here for his turn at an attempted intervention, one more warning about the dangers of a hypothetical relationship with Chase.

"Coffee?" Cameron sits back in her chair and stares at the cup he's placed on her desk, raising her eyebrows in question.

"Don't worry," says Wilson, "it's decaf."

"Okay," Cameron answers slowly, feeling unsettled by her inability to read his intentions in coming here this morning. Wilson has been fairly absent since House's death, working long hours but no longer coming to Diagnostics to socialize. Suddenly she regrets not offering him any support of her own, though she hasn't exactly had any to spare. "Why?"

Wilson shrugs. "I was at lunch. I wanted to say congratulations."

"So you're congratulating me on my pregnancy with coffee." Cameron continues eying him suspiciously; she doesn't trust his motives in speaking to her, and the last thing she wants is to have to defend herself yet again.

"Sort of," says Wilson. He doesn't get up.

"What are you doing here?" Cameron asks bluntly, silently hoping that he will get to the point and be finished soon enough. Their current case has ground to a halt diagnostically, hours' worth of tests pending before they'll be able to make any more progress. She's already exhausted, worn down and tired of everyone's scrutiny; everything seems harder now, unnatural, though she hasn't had any further signs of physical problems.

Wilson sighs, apparently accepting that she wants to forgo pretenses and get to the point of this conversation. "I wanted to talk to you about Chase," he admits finally.

"How did I know," Cameron snaps, her anxiety at Wilson's presence shifting toward anger. "You and the rest of the hospital. Let me guess. You came to warn me about the dangers of being involved with an addict. We're not together. And don't you think that's more than a little hypocritical of you, considering?"

Part of her knows that everyone is simply looking to protect her, that they can hardly be blamed for thinking she's making bad decisions, having witnessed Chase's behavior over the past two and a half years in her absence. After all, this pregnancy _is_ an accident, no matter how fully they've both embraced it. And she is all too aware of the risk Chase's history of addiction poses to any potential family. The fear that he will be unable to overcome it in the longterm, will destroy his body and his life in the process, is still foremost among the reasons she knows they cannot risk a real relationship, no matter how much she loves him. And yet she resents the constant assumption from strangers and colleagues alike that she has not considered these things, that she needs their warnings, that they are even capable of fully understanding.

"Yes," says Wilson, surprising her. "It would be. Which is why I'm not going to do that."

"Then—what?" asks Cameron, still suspicious. She knows Wilson is phenomenally good at manipulating people; it's what makes him such a great doctor.

"I thought _you_ might want someone to talk to, actually," he offers. "You have all these people trying to tell you what to do. You must be tired of it. But do you know what you actually want?"

Cameron is silent for a long moment, studying his face. In the past she has harbored a fundamental distrust toward Wilson because of his obvious inability to be impartial regarding House, to keep secrets from his best friend. Yet she has always known that at least professionally they share a profound dedication to patients' wellbeing. Now that House is gone, she wonders whether Wilson feels lost, directionless as she did upon moving to Chicago.

"Chase and I are friends," she repeats carefully at last, taking a breath. "He wants to be a father to his child. Who am I to deny him that? I know he's always wanted a family."

"And you feel like you need to have some kind of partnership with him for that to be possible," Wilson elaborates, falling easily into the role of counselor now that she has silently granted him permission.

"I care about him," Cameron admits quietly. "I want him to get healthy. I want him to be able to care for our child. I—don't want us to hate each other forever."

"You don't hate each other now," Wilson points out. "For what it's worth, I don't think Chase ever really hated you. He was hurt and angry at you for leaving him. But he hated himself, not you."

"He doesn't trust me," Cameron insists, feeling vaguely sick at that certainty. "It doesn't matter what I do now. He's never going to get over the fact that I left him. And I can't—really blame him for that. I was wrong."

"He's spent _years_ missing you," says Wilson, leaning forward in his chair. "That was always obvious. You know, Chase did okay for a while after you left. Obviously depressed, but he was still able to function. It wasn't until you asked for the divorce that he really got out of control with the drinking and the drugs. I think until then, he was always holding out hope that you would come back."

Cameron frowns, taken aback again at how much of the past three years are still unknown to her, how she's still able to be constantly surprised by new revelations. "I didn't know that."

Wilson nods. "Don't underestimate what he's willing to forgive."

"Are you trying to talk me into getting back together with Chase?" Cameron asks, narrowing her eyes. "Why are we even talking about this?" This entire conversation feels surreal, like there must be an ulterior motive Wilson could reveal at any moment. Taking a slow breath, she tries to tell herself that she's being irrationally suspicious, that not everyone is as ready to interfere in her personal life as House once was.

"Because I don't think you're ready to walk away from this again," says Wilson. "And I don't think you're capable of staying just friends. Either way, you need to figure out what you want and get it straight between the two of you before someone gets hurt again."

"We're fine," Cameron says tightly, tensing. "And you've barely spoken to me since I've been back. Why now? Because Chase reminds you of House? Does that mean you think I'm you? I'm not you. And I'm pretty sure I'm grown up enough to make my own decisions."

"You're afraid of his addiction," says Wilson, sounding almost too confident. "And I know you aren't me. But that doesn't mean I can't give you advice."

"Fine." Cameron glances at the clock and then gets to her feet, still ignoring the cup of decaf coffee on her desk. Drinking it feels like a gesture of surrender. "Then give me your advice. But do it fast. I have to go check up on my team. I don't have time to sit here discussing my personal life all afternoon."

"You're never going to be completely ready to walk away from Chase, addiction or not," says Wilson firmly, standing to face her. "Believe me. I know. You helped him get clean once. That means you're still committed to him in a big way. It's going to be a constant struggle. Maybe he'll be able to stay sober, maybe he won't. But you're going to be there through it with him, whether you want to admit that to yourself now or not. Why not go all in? Don't miss your chance to be happy just because you're worried you'll lose him someday."

Cameron bites her lip, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable, as though he's somehow seen straight through her without really looking at all. "You were always loyal to House. Are you really telling me you don't regret it?"

"I have plenty of regrets," says Wilson evasively. "That isn't one of them."

–

Chase is terrible at washing dishes. Cameron has always found it amusing to watch him, secretly entertained by the irony that he can perform complex surgery flawlessly, but seems somehow incapable of scrubbing out a pan without ending up splattered in water and soap suds himself.

"You missed a spot," she comments, pointing as she watches him rush through the mess they've made in attempting homemade lasagna. It's the first time they've cooked together in years, though they've shared nearly every meal for the past week. Looking around the condo's kitchen gives Cameron a sense of twisted nostalgia. She remembers all too well making dinner with Chase on weekends or rare days off, but everything feels different now, faded and somehow still empty, tainted by the years between.

"Told you this should've been your job," Chase grumbles, glancing over at her dishtowel. He has soap suds caught in his hair, and Cameron reaches out to brush them off, not thinking about what she's doing until he jerks away, looking surprised.

"Sorry," Cameron murmurs, hurrying to grab the pan he's just finished with and dry it.

Chase looks at her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, in one quick movement, he skims his fingers through the foam of soap suds in the sink and flicks some at her. Cameron jumps back, laughing in shock. She remembers being surprised by his playfulness when they'd first started dating, but it's been years now since she's seen any sign of this side of him. Now she feels uncertain of how to react, thrilled that he seems to be getting some sense of humor back, but afraid to take it too far and cross the line again. Wilson's words are still fresh in her mind, and while she's tempted to take heed of them, let his advice push her over the edge and back toward a real relationship, she still feels caught in limbo, waiting for some final intangible sign.

They finish the dishes in silence, a comfortable hush falling over both of them. Cameron finds herself looking around the kitchen yet again, and out into the living room, trying to remember when this place felt new and full of life. She misses it, she realizes. More than anything else now, she feels as though she's lost her home, and though they lived in the condo for barely half a year, it's still the place she longs for now.

"Have you thought about repainting?" Cameron asks, when the last dish has been put away. She leans back against the edge of the counter and crosses her arms, watching as Chase mirrors her, hands shoved into his pockets telling her that he's still more than a little tense.

"What?" he asks, looking slightly disoriented.

Cameron shrugs. "I don't know. Everything just looks—kind of rundown. I thought it might look more homey with a fresh coat of paint."

"Oh," says Chase, sounding as though he doesn't quite know what to make of that.

"I could help you," Cameron offers, unsure why she's suddenly so attached to the idea. It feels like yet another way to make up for past mistakes, a concrete sign of progress, though she's aware these are simply irrational wishes for control over things she may never truly achieve.

"You're pregnant," says Chase sharply, straightening and taking a step toward her. "If I were to repaint this place, you wouldn't be able to come anywhere near it for days, let alone help."

"Not if we use environmentally safe paint," Cameron insists, at once touched by his concern, and that much more determined to convince him. "I know that's okay. All the pregnancy books mention it in the chapters about preparing a nursery."

"You've been reading pregnancy books?" Chase swallows visibly. "I didn't know that. You should tell me which ones so I can get my own copies."

Cameron nods distractedly. "I can just give them to you when I finish. But we should paint. It wouldn't take too long, and I think it would really brighten the place up."

"Are you thinking about turning the spare room here into a nursery?" asks Chase, surprising her yet again. That thought hasn't actually occurred to Cameron yet, though she has considered the fact that her own apartment only has one bedroom.

"I—hadn't considered that," she admits. "I know I'll have to move, before the baby gets too old to share my bedroom."

"Right." Chase shoves his hands into his pockets again, looking noticeably uncomfortable now. "I guess we haven't—really talked about how that's going to work."

"I know." Cameron takes a breath, anxiety tightening her stomach as she thinks about her conversation with Wilson yet again. "I had just—assumed we'd figure it out when we get there."

"Is that really a good idea?" Chase asks, starting to sound a little agitated. "I mean—seems like something we should be discussing now. How are we going to decide who the baby stays with? What happens if one of us decides to move out of state? What if you decide you want to get remarried, have your own family? What then? The only thing either of us has committed to is raising this child."

For a moment Cameron can only stare at him, shocked by the immensity of the fears he's obviously been keeping from her. He's started to be more forthcoming to her about the things bothering him, but she feels as though she's continually caught off-guard by the secrets he still doesn't share. "What, you think I'll just—change my mind and take off with our child? Find someone else and ban you from my life?"

Chase shrugs. "I don't know. I never thought we'd get divorced, but we did. How am I to know what might happen?"

Cameron inhales slowly, her anger over his words vanishing as she sees the profound sadness in his eyes, feels again her own regrets over everything they've lost. Suddenly she knows without question that he wouldn't be so afraid, so quick to anger, if he didn't already care deeply, if he didn't have so much to lose.

"I'm not going to leave you again," Cameron says gently. "I won't make that mistake. Maybe we can't ever get back what we had. Maybe we can't ever have a real relationship. But—I don't see myself ever wanting to be with anyone else, either. I don't know how to plan that far in the future. But I promise you, whatever happens, we'll talk through it and we'll work it out. That's—really all I can promise."

Chase runs a hand through his hair, visibly struggling to relax. "Okay. But—if we're going to paint, I think we should turn the spare room into a nursery. Even if we only use it some of the time."

Cameron smiles, feeling more confident now. "Okay. This weekend?"

Chase nods, exhaling shakily, but still sounding a little nervous. "What do you think? Purple? For the nursery?"

"Or green," says Cameron, glad to have the subject changed.

"As long as it's not pink or blue," says Chase. "I'm not gender-stereotyping my unborn child."

Cameron laughs, though she's fairly certain he's only half joking, for the first time beginning to be able to envision something of a future.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	40. Chapter 40

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Forty

On Saturday afternoon, Cameron shows up in an oversized t-shirt and jeans with a rip across the back pocket. She looks happier and more relaxed than Chase has seen her in a very long time, and though he's really only agreed to repaint as an excuse to spend the weekend with her, now it seems like exactly the right thing to be doing.

Chase has spent the remainder of the week clearing space for the painting, and they make it through the kitchen and living room before pausing to eat dinner. All the windows are open, the early-September breeze that sweeps in just beginning to smell like autumn. The sun sets orange on the horizon, streaking the sky all shades of pink. There seems to be a sense of peace in the air, the contentedness Chase remembers from when they first moved into the condo.

Now, as streetlights come on outside, they are in the spare bedroom which is soon to be converted into a nursery.

"Make sure your line is straight," says Cameron, glancing down at where he's kneeling to tape off the baseboard.

"I know," Chase grumbles good-naturedly, looking up to watch her roll green paint precisely along the center of the wall above his head, and trying not to stare at the spot where he can see the pink polka dots on her panties through the rip in her jeans. "You said the same thing in the kitchen. And the living room."

"And yet you couldn't tape in a straight line there either," says Cameron, smiling.

"You're lucky you're pregnant," Chase teases, though he doesn't mind her ribbing. "Otherwise I'd have you on your knees doing this all day."

"Sorry," Cameron retorts dryly. "I know you like me on my knees."

Chase chokes, breath catching in his throat as her words take him by surprise. He knows it's a joke, another level of teasing, the kind of thing which would have been completely natural between them years ago. Yet now, when he can see the lines of their friendship just beginning to blur into something more, moments like this seem crucial, decisive, as though his single response could make the difference between moving forward and setting them back again several weeks. And so he stays silent, afraid to meet her eyes.

When he doesn't reply, Cameron busies herself painting again, looking tense suddenly, but not angry. She seems distracted, continuing for several strokes before noticing that her roller has gone dry. Chase pauses again in his taping, watching as she dips the roller into the paint tray, forgetting to press off the excess before lifting it back to the wall. In her haste, the roller sends an arc of paint into the air, and Chase flinches instinctively as a spray of cold droplets lands on his back, soaking through his shirt instantly.

Cameron freezes, looking down at him. "Sorry," she repeats after a moment, sounding more earnest than before, but she's trying hard not to smile.

"You are not sorry," Chase says, sitting back on his heels. There's paint in his hair, too, he realizes, and he swipes a hand through it futilely as it begins to drip down his forehead.

"You look good in green," Cameron protests innocently, laughing helplessly now despite herself.

There's something contagious in her laughter, in the way her eyes dance in the soft buttery light from outside. She looks truly radiant in a way that he can't remember ever seeing before, though he's thought so many times that she could not possibly be more beautiful.

"Oh yeah?" Chase asks. Suddenly it's almost as though the past few years might never have happened, as though his head is above water again. For a second that realization makes his heart beat faster with anxiety, all the reasons why it's dangerous to let himself be happy replaying in his mind, but he swallows them back down, unable to resist the allure of Cameron's smile.

"Definitely," says Cameron, making a show of continuing to paint as though nothing's happened.

Biting his lip, Chase picks up the second roller, still covered in lavender paint from the living room, and delicately rolls it up the back of her shirt.

"Hey!" Cameron jumps and turns, her roller sending more paint splashing through the air to splatter his shirt.

"You look good in lavender," Chase parrots.

Cameron gives him a look which says this means war, then skims her fingers through the paint tray and plants a green handprint squarely in the middle of his chest before backing up out of his immediate reach again. Laughing, Chase grabs his own handful from the tray and throws it at her, splattering her shirt and jeans. Abandoning her roller, Cameron grabs one of the brushes they've been using for trim and dunks it into the open paint can a few feet away.

Anticipating her attack, Chase leans further back, but she's still too fast, going down on her knees and gracefully tackling him with the brush in hand. Caught off guard, Chase loses his balance, arms instinctively going around her waist to protect her from falling as they tumble backwards, landing with his lower body in the tray, paint thoroughly drenching them both.

Cameron is breathing hard, her hair tickling his face as loose strands fall from her ponytail. Suddenly Chase is very aware of the weight of her body on top of his, barely noticing the paint anymore. She doesn't move off of him immediately, simply looking down into his eyes with an intensity of emotion he doesn't dare let himself read. It's all he can do not to lean up and kiss her, to close that last fraction of an inch. And yet the distance still feels unfathomable; he's closer now than ever before, but he still can't find the strength beneath the weight of everything else.

"We should get cleaned up," Cameron whispers at last, and rolls off of him, breaking the spell.

"Yeah," Chase manages, letting out a breath he hasn't realized he's been holding, and swallowing down his disappointment. Better not to have spoiled the moment, he tells himself, but he feels almost bereft now. "You can find something to wear in the bedroom."

Cameron nods, and steps aside to let him pass her on his way to the bathroom. Chase strips down to his boxers, throwing his paint-covered clothes into the washer on his way past. Leaning over the sink, he scrubs the paint out of his hair, then pauses in front of the mirror for a moment, still catching his breath. When he enters the bedroom, Cameron is standing in front of the full-length mirror in her underwear, surprising him.

Chase freezes, feeling as though he's violated her privacy unintentionally. But then he sees that she's fixated on her own reflection, on the first visible outline of a baby bump rounding out her previously-flat abdomen.

"Oh, God," he whispers, suddenly overwhelmed as the full reality of her pregnancy strikes him for the first time. Until this moment it's seemed surreal, still more like an impossible dream than anything else.

Cameron turns slowly to meet his eyes, saying nothing, but obviously just as affected by the enormity of this as he feels.

"You're showing," Chase breathes, feeling unable to find words for this. He moves entirely without thought, propelled by pure emotion, the need to share this with her completely. Threading his fingers into her hair, he leans in and kisses her slowly, tenderly, so different from the adrenaline-fueled rush of just a few minutes before. He feels breathless as he pulls away, keeping his hand against her cheek, afraid to meet her gaze now, suddenly terrified of what he might see in her face.

But Cameron surprises him, leaning up to kiss him again, her hand going to the back of his neck. This time, Chase winds his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him as she deepens the kiss. Her skin is warm against his, and he trails his fingers along the curve of her back, suddenly needing more. It's agonizing having her so close when he is still so afraid to ask for any semblance of intimacy.

"I need you," he hears himself murmur against her ear. "Please." It's like time has slowed down around him, at once transfixed and dizzy with pent-up desire, the risks no longer outweighing the pure ecstasy he feels holding her in this moment.

"It's okay," Cameron whispers, her breath tickling his cheek. She leans up to touch her forehead against his, then takes both of his hands in hers and steps back, leading him toward the bed, now covered in its original freshly-washed sheets.

Sitting on the edge beside her, Chase kisses her again, running a hand through her hair. It's much shorter now than the last time they were in this bed together, just one more reminder of all the time that's passed. Skimming his fingers along her shoulderblades, he unhooks her bra, not giving himself any time to second guess himself. Cameron shrugs out of it, leaning forward to kiss his neck, and Chase tips his head to the side for her, sucking in a breath as goosebumps erupt along his skin. Pulling back and smiling at him, she gently takes hold of his wrist and places his hand on her belly. Swallowing back a sudden rush of tears, Chase traces his fingertips along her new curves, closing his eyes and trying in earnest to picture their child for the first time.

Taking his hand again, Cameron shifts back on the bed, settling against the pillows and looking up at him, drawing him on top of her. Slowly, carefully, Chase positions himself above her, leaning down to brush his lips across her forehead. Cameron wraps her arms around him as she cranes her neck for another kiss, and he's struck by how entirely natural this feels, not born out of anger or grief like a few months before. Now all he can think about is how much he loves her, the way her skin seems to glow in the dim light tonight, still flushed from their struggle with the paint. And though he isn't ready to voice those thoughts yet, words continuing to elude him, he is entirely determined to show her.

"These need to come off," Cameron says, as she slips her fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers, thumb stroking over his hipbone. She is all softness, all warmth, and Chase nods quickly, helping her push them down until he can kick them off the side of the bed.

Ducking his head, Chase trails a line of tiny kisses across her clavicle, sucking very lightly before moving lower. Watching goosebumps rise on her skin, he ghosts his lips across the tops of her breasts, breath catching in his throat when she moans softly in response. Lingering, he presses a kiss to the soft skin between. Then, very gently, he curls his tongue around her nipple, feeling her squirm beneath him as she threads her fingers into his hair, tugging his head closer. Chase laughs against her skin, teasing for a moment before moving to her other breast.

"Now we're uneven," he points out at last, sitting back to hook his thumbs in her panties, staring unabashedly at them for a moment after spending the afternoon distracted by glimpses through the tear in her jeans.

"That's true," says Cameron, lifting her hips to let him pull them off.

Positioning himself between her legs, Chase takes hold of her hips, glancing up at her for silent permission, remembering her rejection two months ago, when he'd thought he was dying. Cameron nods, and he swirls his tongue around her hipbone, very lightly stroking his fingers over her labia before finding her clit. She groans low in her throat, arching into his hand, and Chase grinds his erection against the mattress for a moment, nearly overwhelmed with need for her. Forcing himself to focus on her, on how much he has to show her, he Replaces his hand with his mouth. Continuing to stroke her clit, he listens as her breathing becomes ragged and shallow, the sounds she's making approaching desperation. Then, pressing a final kiss to her inner thigh, Chase sits back on his heels, watching her.

"Fuck," Cameron murmurs huskily, her chest heaving visibly. "Get back here."

Grinning, Chase obliges, kissing her messily as he positions himself above her again. "Ready?" he asks breathlessly, resting his forehead against hers for a moment.

"Please," Cameron answers, a neediness in her voice that he hasn't heard in years. She takes hold of his hips, guiding him down and wrapping her legs around him as he slips inside of her.

Chase buries his face in her neck for a moment, swallowing another wave of tears at the sensation of being totally enveloped by her. She brings one hand up to cradle the nape of his neck as he starts to move slowly, still overwhelmed.

"You okay?" Cameron asks softly, surprising him.

"Yeah," Chase manages, looking at her finally as he picks up the pace. Her eyes are clear even in the low light, and she's watching him with such an expression of reverence that he feels his breath catch in his throat.

"I missed this," Cameron whispers, sounding as though she might cry.

Suddenly needing to have her closer, Chase sits back on his heels, pulling her with him until she's balanced on his lap, legs still wrapped around his waist. Sliding his arms around her tightly, he begins to move more quickly, lowering his head to kiss the hollow where her neck meets her shoulder. Cameron moans loudly, tipping her head to give him better access, raking her nails over his back at the same time.

"God, you're so beautiful," he murmurs against her ear, and she sobs softly, surprising him.

Cameron returns his embrace in a rush, holding on so tightly he can hardly breathe. Chase bites his lip, willing himself to focus on keeping up some semblance of a rhythm as a thousand memories engulf him. He thinks suddenly of their wedding night, of how it had felt safe finally to let the last of his defenses fall, to plunge headlong into this relationship she'd promised was forever. He's felt shattered from the moment she left, as though she took a piece of his soul with her, but worse yet his ability to trust, to _hope_ in that way ever again. The fear is still there, even now. But then he thinks also of her arms around him in the hospital after his car crash, of the way she held on when he was in the throes of withdrawal, her commitment to saving his life even in the face of every defense he'd been able to muster. Of their child, growing within her, and Cameron's willingness to share this miracle with him still after everything. The undying faith of a woman who has always claimed to have none.

"So close," he breathes, as the realization that he isn't going to last after so long brings him back to the present moment.

Cameron nods, burying her face in his shoulder so he can feel the heat of her tears against his skin. Slipping his hand between them, Chase finds her clit again, stroking frantically, listening to her breath hitch. She comes a moment later, with a raw cry that sends him over the edge as well, holding onto her helplessly as his entire body shudders with the force of his orgasm. Cameron falls back against the pillows, pulling him with her as she catches her breath. For a long time there is only silence, the sound of cars passing by on the street below, and the sweet autumn smell of the breeze still blowing in through the open windows.

"I should go," Cameron says decisively at last, rolling away and sitting up so quickly that it takes Chase a moment to realize what's just happened. "It's really late."

"Wait," he blurts, catching her by the arm reflexively, before he's thought through this decision. But he knows instantly that he can't stand to have her leave, even for a few hours. He feels vulnerable now in a way he hasn't ever previously, torn and exposed before her, but willingly. He knows suddenly and unequivocally what he wants, and in this moment worthiness doesn't matter. "Stay?"

Cameron looks surprised, but she nods once, settling back down on her side of the bed. Taking a breath, Chase rolls over and closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her from behind and lacing their fingers, resting both of their hands over her belly.

Cameron stiffens, but she doesn't pull away, looking at him uncertainly over her shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Allison," Chase whispers, swallowing, having trouble finding his voice, the strength to speak these words. But he knows now that he's already denied himself too long and weakness or no, he can't bear to give this up again. "I'm still—so scared. When you left, it was like nothing mattered anymore. I had no reason to live. If that were to happen again, I know that I couldn't survive. But—then I think—You've been with me through the absolute lowest times in my life. Even when I tried my damnedest to make you leave again. And you're still here. Never in my life has _anyone_ cared about me the way you do. I know we can't just pick up where we were before. And maybe we'll never get back there. But—if you're still willing after all of this—I would really like a relationship with you."

For one breathless moment Cameron just looks at him, every bit as scared and vulnerable as he feels, tears still drying on her cheeks. Slowly, she rolls over to face him, her hand shaking badly as she brings it up to rest against his jaw. And then she is kissing him in response, wrapping herself around him. Chase turns his face into her neck, finally allowing himself to cry, overwhelmed by this night and the enormity of relief. That she is still willing seems a miracle all its own; he feels very small and undeserving, but tremendously grateful.

"I won't hurt you," Cameron is saying as her hands travel over his back. "I promise. We'll figure this out. We just—have to."

Chase nods, settling against her as he finally feels like he can breathe again, utterly exhausted. Cameron has her hand threaded into his hair, their legs tangled, as though it hasn't been years since they've slept together in this bed, as though there aren't still a thousand obstacles between them and happiness. For this moment, with the September breeze blowing its magic over the room, and fingers of moonlight reaching in from the cracks between the blinds, nothing else matters but this second chance. Wordlessly, Chase reaches over and turns out the light.

* * *

Reviews earn my eternal love. ^_~


	41. Chapter 41

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Forty-One

Cameron wakes up very slowly, to the sound of another late-summer thunderstorm just starting, the rain pattering down outside the open windows. As the wind starts to kick up, she slips out of bed, not bothering to get dressed, and goes out into the living room to close them, shivering as a light spray of raindrops hits her face.

The living room still smells faintly of paint fumes, but even in the rain-dulled morning light, everything looks brighter, cleaner. A new beginning, she thinks, looking down again at her own body, which is just starting to become unrecognizable. Another two days will mark the end of her fifteenth week; she's been secretly counting the time on her calendar for months, not even daring to share the ritual with Chase. Running a hand over the curve of her belly again, she feels a thrill of anxiety mixed with hope. Now that her first trimester is well over, it is beginning to feel safe to love this child in earnest, she thinks, making plans for a future which will actually happen, though she knows she is simply drawing irrational boundaries for herself.

When she gets back into the bedroom, Chase has rolled over into the center of the bed, tangled up in the sheets. He's breathing hard, she realizes, face twisted into a mask of agony, clearly being tortured by his dreams. If he's had nightmares in the past few weeks, he's managed to hide them from her, but she remembers vividly the terror she saw in him during the time he was staying at her apartment in recovery. Climbing back onto the bed, Cameron hurries to shake him, barely managing to catch his arm and prevent him from falling as he reflexively jerks away from her touch.

"Fuck," Chase gasps, blinking at her and breathing hard. His eyes are wild with panic as he looks at her, naked, vulnerable, and clearly terrified.

Cameron responds instantly, heartbroken, moving to hug him. Chase wraps his arms around her waist, holding on as his entire body shakes. It's a relief, she realizes, to finally be able to offer him the kind of comfort she has wanted to so desperately all along, to not have to worry about crossing any line afforded by their relationship. She's surprised by his sudden willingness to try again, but has seen the subtle changes in him over the past few months. And she wants this too much to question his motives. Instead, she is all the more determined to find a way to make this second chance last.

"Breathe," Cameron coaxes softly, rubbing his back. His skin is cool under her touch, already drenched in sweat, and she wonders how long he was dreaming before she was able to wake him up.

"You were up," Chase manages against her ear, still breathing raggedly. "Did I wake you? Were you leaving?"

"No!" Cameron feels an instant surge of guilt, though she had no way to know that he would even have noticed her absence from the bed, no way to predict that he would have a nightmare at this particular moment. "I just went to close the windows. It's raining. Didn't want everything to get wet."

"Sorry," Chase manages, calming slowly. "Didn't mean to accuse you. I just—God."

"It's okay," Cameron assures him, suddenly acutely aware of the strangeness of this new relationship. The last thing she wants is to make the same mistakes they fell prey to before; she knows better than to think picking up where they left off three years ago is a good idea. If this is going to succeed they need to move slowly, approach this as tentatively as she did when they first started dating. Yet it seems cruel not to offer him every bit of commitment she had to their marriage, especially when he seems so desperately in need. "Is this—every night for you?"

Chase bites his lip, lying back against his pillow to look at her, seeming ashamed, almost shy. "Since I stopped drinking, yeah. Last night was—better than most, actually. Usually wake up more than once."

"Was it better when you were drinking?" Cameron asks, needing to know out of pure morbid curiosity.

He shrugs, fingers playing along a wrinkle in the sheet, still shaking. He doesn't meet her eyes. "Don't really know. Didn't feel like I needed to sleep as much when I was taking the Adderall. Couldn't dream if I was passed out. So I'd just drink until that happened, and hope I'd be able to wake up in time for work. House didn't ever really care if I was late."

"You told me you stole his pad," she says carefully, remembering suddenly the day they cleaned his stash out of the condo. It feels impossibly long ago now, though she knows it was only a few short months. "Did you talk to him about what was going on?" Cameron reaches out and brushes sweat-damp hair off his forehead, pulling the sheets up higher over both of them as he starts to shiver in the early morning air.

Chase shakes his head, leaning into her hand. "Some. For a long time I blamed him for breaking up our marriage. But then I realized—If I'd been honest with you in the first place, nothing he'd said would've mattered. He was just—being House. I was the one who'd changed."

Cameron shakes her head, feeling a surge of remembered anger. In death she'd nearly managed to forgive House, tried her hardest to put aside the end of her time in Princeton in favor of remembering all the ways he'd been her mentor, shaped her career and her skill as a doctor. But now, knowing how much of a mistake she made in leaving, knowing that it was House's words that brought her to her breaking point, she can feel only resentment toward his memory.

"_He_ changed you," Cameron insists, though she means it now in an entirely different way than when she'd left. Chase isn't the apathetic monster she'd thought he was then, far from it, yet he is clearly scarred by the experience, by his years working for House. "I know your decision was your own. But House—convinced you not to trust me. That our marriage was doomed."

"Allison." Chase sighs, reaching out to finger a lock of her hair, mirroring her tentatively, as though he's still afraid of rejection. She remembers suddenly his hesitance when they'd first started dating, how he'd seemed to be convinced that she'd change her mind at any moment, and return to their original rules. "Let me own this. God knows it's time I did."

Cameron takes a slow breath, forcing herself to relax. It's as though his anxiety is contagious, fueling her anger toward the people who have hurt him, though she ranks herself first among those to blame. He looks much calmer now, even slightly less exhausted than the previous day, though there's still a roughness about him that tells her his struggles are constant. Shifting closer again, Cameron moves to wrap her arm around his shoulders, but this time he does pull away, looking uncomfortable.

"What is it?" she asks, surprised, trying not to be hurt by his sudden rejection.

Chase shakes his head, looking away again. "Just—feel disgusting. I'm all sweaty. Smell like paint fumes. You shouldn't have to touch me."

"You think that bothers me?" asks Cameron, surprised that such a trivial thing could upset him so much after the struggles they've been through together in the past few months. Yet she knows his shame in having any needs at all, has nearly forgotten how tentative he was early in their relationship. It makes sense now, she supposes, when he has so many fears and suddenly so much to lose.

Chase shrugs, running a hand through his hair. "Bothers _me_."

"Okay," Cameron says gently, sitting up. "Then take a shower with me."

"What?" he stammers, looking honestly shocked that she's made the suggestion, and she's reminded again of just how large a leap they've taken in one night, how far still they have to go before being truly comfortable together again. "Really?"

"Yes," Cameron says firmly, getting to her feet and offering her hand. "Come on. You used to get upset with me for showering before you'd gotten up."

Chase doesn't take her hand, but he does get to his feet, slowly, groaning softly as he stretches. He still looks tense, though no longer panicked, and she doesn't question him further, instead simply leading him into the bathroom. Once this room was filled with scented candles, but now it feels strangely empty, almost sterile after their initial cleaning of the condo. Silently, Cameron vows to replace the candles, though she has to keep reminding herself that she doesn't live here anymore.

"I don't think any of your bath stuff is still here," Chase says, voice muffled as he leans into the shower to turn it on, keeping one hand in the spray as he adjusts the temperature.

"It's not." Cameron glances distractedly at herself in the mirror, trying to decide whether there's been any noticeable chance in her body in the past twelve hours. Everything feels so different. "I threw it all out when we cleaned. It was dried up anyway. But I don't mind sharing with you if that's—okay."

Chase just nods, biting his lip, and Cameron wonders whether he is as aware as she is that three years ago this wouldn't have even merited a conversation. Taking a deep breath, she steps into the shower, closing her eyes as the spray washes over her face, reminding her of the rain. Chase hesitates for a moment before following her, then stands at the opposite end of the shower, watching her uncertainly.

"It's okay," Cameron assures him softly, feeling as though it's going to become her mantra in their relationship. Carefully, she closes the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her forehead against his shoulder.

Chase exhales slowly, shifting his weight to lean against her ever so slightly as he returns her embrace. He skims one hand over her back slowly, lightly, as though a part of him is still afraid to touch her, afraid that this might not be real. Leaning upward, Cameron kisses him softly, curling her fingers into the wet hair at the nape of his neck. He squeezes his eyes closed, making a soft, needy noise low in his throat as he kisses back, his hands roving over her spine. For a long moment he touches his forehead against hers, breathing in the stillness and the steam.

"Feel better?" Cameron asks softly, stepping back at last.

Chase nods wordlessly, though not entirely convincingly. Turning away, he squeezes shampoo into his palm before offering the bottle to her. Cameron watches him as she washes her own hair, trying to remember what it was like when this was a daily ritual, and nothing seemed strange or unfamiliar. She feels as though maybe she ought not to be looking as he picks up soap and washcloth, as though this is a violation of his privacy, the mundanity of a shower somehow more intimate than sex. Ridiculous, she tells herself, after they've been married, after she spent the better part of a month helping him bathe. And yet, when she takes the washcloth from him, she turns away instinctively, telling herself it's to get under the water, though she's made the move without even realizing.

Closing her eyes, Cameron leans into the spray again, momentarily letting herself be lost in its serenity, trying to shed the fingers of doubt already beginning to tighten her stomach. She knows without question that she wants this relationship, yet it seems that every second there is another reminder of just exactly how much remains unknown, how hard it will be to recapture happiness.

She can't say how much time passes before Chase shatters her reverie with his hands on her shoulders, but it's a welcome distraction, and she leans back into his touch. For once he doesn't question, doesn't hesitate, simply brushes her hair to the side and presses a kiss to the nape of her neck. She's nearly overwhelmed by a flood of nostalgia as he carefully works fingers over the taut muscles of her back and shoulders, reminding her that he hasn't lost his surgeon's touch. By the time he's finished, Cameron feels more relaxed than she's been in weeks, and can only think that she doesn't want him to ever stop touching her.

Taking hold of his wrist, she pulls his hand down to her breast, sucking in a breath and hoping that she isn't pushing him too far. But Chase responds immediately, finding her nipple with his thumb, and bringing his other hand up to mirror the motion. Cameron moans softly as he kisses the sensitive spot just behind her left ear, tilting her head for him. He ghosts his lips down her neck, the sensation of his stubble against her skin making her shiver.

Slowly gaining confidence, Chase moves his hands lower, skimming over her belly before gently parting her legs. He wraps one arm around her waist, drawing her body flush to his as he brushes his fingers over her labia, and Cameron shudders at the feeling of his erection against her lower back. And then he's stroking her, stealing her breath, and all she can think about is how much she's missed him, how lonely it's been having him so deceptively close and yet forbidden to love until now.

"God, I want you," Chase growls against her ear, grazing his teeth along the side of her neck, obviously struggling to keep his hips still.

Tearing herself away from him with every bit of willpower she's able to muster, Cameron turns to face him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him hungrily. Chase makes a little noise of surprise before finding his bearings again, walking her backwards until her shoulderblades find the wall. Running her hands down his back, Cameron cups his ass, loving the noise he makes in response. She is already breathing hard as she takes hold of his shoulders, curling her leg around his hip and gasping as he enters her with one powerful thrust. For a moment Chase is still, simply looking down at her with an intensity of emotion in his eyes that nearly moves her to tears.

"Are you okay?" Cameron whispers, reaching up to touch his cheek.

Chase swallows visibly, then nods. "Just—was so sure I'd never have this again."

Catching her breath, Cameron leans up to kiss him, almost frantically. At last he starts to move, fast and hard, and she can't tell whether he's crying again in the spray from the shower. Bending, Chase rests his head against her shoulder, already struggling to maintain a steady rhythm. Clumsily, he finds her clit again, stroking desperately as he moans against her skin. Cameron closes her eyes as they fill with hot tears, crying at once out of relief and heartbreak for his pain. Chase comes with a sob, burying his face against her neck, her own climax barely a split second behind, so intense that her knees nearly give out. He wraps his arms around her immediately, holding on as though he can somehow erase the past three years.

"I'm here, babe," Cameron manages when she can speak again, not even thinking about the words until they're already out of her mouth.

Chase stiffens slightly, but he doesn't pull away, waiting until his breathing has nearly returned to normal before stepping back to meet her eyes. "Time to go back to bed?" he asks exhaustedly.

Cameron smiles, glad to have a lighter subject, at least for now. "For a little while," she agrees, suddenly remembering the state they've left the rest of the condo in. "Then we have to clean up. And finish painting."

Groaning, Chase turns off the water and grabs a towel, tossing it in her direction.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated! Thank you for all of your support so far!


	42. Chapter 42

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTE: Sorry this is a day late. Blame my delayed flight yesterday.

* * *

Chapter Forty-Two

On Monday morning, Cameron wakes before dawn and is unable to fall asleep again, filled with a peculiar anxiety she can't quite place. She's gone back to her apartment for the night, determined still to take things slowly with Chase. As she lies in bed in her empty room, thoughts race through her mind, a thousand ways to keep this from turning into a disaster again. It would be all too easy to simply give in to temptation and act as though they are picking up from exactly where they left off post-honeymoon three years ago, go back to doing everything together. But she knows that won't fix anything, knows they will end up caught again in the same pitfalls as always. And so she spends a sleepless night in her new apartment, thinking about Chase waking from his nightmares and wondering what fear she's left him with alone.

The clock reads 6:30 when she finally gives up and drags herself out of bed. In the past she would have been up this early to go for a run, but since becoming pregnant, she finds that she needs much more sleep. Briefly contemplating exercise now, Cameron decides that she's too distracted, and too wary of overexerting herself besides. Instead she showers, haunted by memories of the previous morning with Chase. By the time she's made it into work, she's exhausted again, but far too stubborn to attempt a nap in the on-call room.

Sitting at what was once House's desk, Cameron looks around the room and tries not to think about how much history this room holds. Unbidden come the memories of Foreman sitting behind this desk, the day she'd come to convince him to change Dibala's treatment. She thinks for the millionth time about how quiet Chase was then. How she should have known that something was wrong, and how it's changed both of their lives forever. Lately she's been picturing impossibilities, how happy they might have been now had none of this ever happened. The thought alone is enough to make her feel sick, yet she can't stop seeing it in her mind, in her dreams. A constant reminder of exactly how much her mistakes have cost everyone. When Wilson appears in the doorway, Cameron is so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't see, doesn't even glance up.

"Brought you a case," he says, making her jump.

Cameron looks up, surprised. "You're here early."

Wilson shrugs. His hair is disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, a far cry from his usual meticulously professional appearance. Cameron sits up straighter in her chair, leaning across the desk toward him and frowning, concern tightening her chest. She's taken it for granted that Wilson is coping with House's death, denying his pain out of self defense and necessity; she hasn't had the time or energy to become invested in his needs. And yet now, remembering that he has been her sole colleague to offer support in the past few months, she feels deeply indebted, surprisingly worried for his wellbeing. She has taken over for House professionally almost without a second thought, but now she wonders whether there might be a part of Wilson who sees her as a potential substitute friend as well. She doesn't mind that idea, she realizes. She's lost her network of friends here as well, in leaving, and so far hasn't dared try to re-establish any of those relationships for fear of getting prematurely too invested in this place, or upsetting the fragile balance of things with Chase. Now the possibilities seem almost boundless; it's safe to begin hoping again.

"You're here early too," says Wilson, after a moment, coming to sit across from her desk again. He places a case file in front of her, but doesn't open it immediately. It's obvious from his expression that he hasn't intended for this patient to be their main topic of conversation.

"Were you working over the weekend?" asks Cameron, realizing that his shirt is rumpled beyond a simple lack of ironing. "Did you go home at all?"

Wilson shrugs again, clearly evading now. "Had a lot to catch up on."

For a moment Cameron simply watches him, waiting to see whether he'll continue. It's a silent battle of wills between them: they are both accustomed to the role of helper, and becoming vulnerable enough to receive is uncomfortable at best, a terrible risk at worst.

"Chase—told me he wants a relationship with me," Cameron says at last, forcing herself to break the silence before she's had a chance to second-guess herself.

"And you said yes?" asks Wilson, leaning forward. Something in him has become more animated, as though the opportunity to listen and advise transcends everything that is bothering him. And that is his true tragedy, Cameron thinks. He will always care for everyone else before himself.

Taking a breath, Cameron nods, feeling a sudden knot of anxiety curling itself around her stomach. It's the first time she's spoken these words aloud, and they seem more real now, somehow. "That's huge for him to even ask. I wasn't going to turn him down."

"Is that what you want?" Wilson asks carefully. "The last time we talked you seemed pretty unsure."

Cameron bites her lip, momentarily at a loss for the words to articulate the boundless worries that have kept her awake all night. "It is. It's just—hard. Harder than I ever would have imagined. And then I think—it's only been a day. How can I have so many fears about it already?"

Wilson folds his hands on the surface of her desk, regarding her thoughtfully. "What are you afraid of? Are you already worrying about the consequences if it doesn't work out? You can't think like that, Allison. You'll be setting yourself up for failure."

"It's not that," Cameron answers, though she knows that at least in part he is exactly right. "It's just—hard to know where to draw the line now. I think we both know that we can't just pick up where we left off. That would be a disaster. But—I can't pretend we've never been together before, either. So what do I do? What's allowed now? And how do I make sure that we don't go too fast? It feels so easy to take this for granted, and I want everything now."

Wilson smiles sadly, nodding. "I think it's safe to say he wants everything you do. But it's good that you know you can't just pretend like nothing happened. You'll have to work on your relationship. Now more than ever. But as far as boundaries—I can't tell you what to do, Allison. I think the two of you should have this conversation. Work it out for yourselves."

"And do what?" Cameron asks, taken aback. "Give him—rules? I'm pretty sure he's not going to like that. He has enough doubts as is."

"Why wouldn't he?" Wilson challenges gently. "If I were Chase, I would be worried about things going bad again. He should appreciate the fact that you want to take steps to prevent making the same mistakes. And yes, you should have rules, although I might not phrase it exactly that way."

"I'll think about it," Cameron hedges, still unable to picture herself having that conversation with Chase. It feels too much like the boundaries she imposed on him when she'd wanted to keep their relationship confined to purely uncomplicated sex, something she's never fully forgiven herself for.

"Okay," says Wilson, getting to his feet. In the outer office, Foreman has just arrived, turning on the lights and starting a pot of coffee for himself.

"Thank you," says Cameron quietly, though she still isn't certain how much of his advice she plans to take.

"Look at that case file," says Wilson, turning to leave. "This guy could really use your department's help."

–

It seems to Chase as though the weekend might have been one very long dream. He doesn't ask Cameron to stay, doesn't protest when she goes back to her apartment, knowing that he can't expect things to be perfect now. A large part of him is still certain that he doesn't deserve the sort of happiness he found with her during the few precious months of their marriage; that still seems impossible for them to ever recapture. But he misses it, now more than ever.

In his nightmares Cameron haunts him, constantly walking away. Over and over in his mind's eye he sees that last night with her, feels the leaden weight of grief that had made it seem impossible to breathe as he'd watched her pack. He can still feel her hair against his cheek as she'd embraced him for the last time, can smell her perfume. He'd felt rooted to the spot then, utterly helpless to prevent her from walking out of his life. He wakes with tears drying on his cheeks and the chill of dread in his blood.

By the time Chase makes it into work, he's nearly half an hour late, and edging toward full-blown panic again. He doesn't doubt the honesty of Cameron's commitment to this new relationship. Rather, it is his own ability to be what she needs that he constantly questions; for the past few years he's seemed incapable of protecting the things he loves from himself. Walking into the hospital feels as though he's approaching some unfathomable danger, as though maybe nothing that's happened the past few days has been real, and he's imagined it in his wishful desperation. Rationally he knows he can't give in to those fears, but they make his skin crawl as he steps into the Diagnostics office, looking at Cameron for some intangible sign to reassure him. But there is nothing. She is seated at the end of the conference table with a case file spread in front of her, perfectly professional, not even visibly pregnant beneath the line of her labcoat.

"You're late," she says, without looking up.

For a moment Chase doesn't realize that she's even speaking to him, so wrapped up in his thoughts and anxiety. By the time he tries to muster a response, Cameron and Foreman are both looking at him, and he can feel shame creeping up the back of his neck. Years ago he swore never to let these problems affect his job performance, and lately he's failed to remain true.

"Sorry," he manages at last, quickly taking a seat at the table.

"We've been waiting for you," Cameron presses, clearly displeased.

Chase swallows, willing himself to remain calm. He knows that Cameron is only being professional in her role as his boss. The last thing she wants is for the rest of the hospital to find out about their relationship as they did her pregnancy. Rationally he understands, agrees with her decision, knowing that she simply wants their privacy to be respected, wants to protect their growing partnership from the potential harm of gossip. And yet the part of him that is always fearful, that he can never truly silence insists that she must be ashamed of him, protecting her pride in keeping these things a secret.

"I'm sorry," Chase repeats, feeling sick as he meets her gaze at last. Suddenly he finds himself wishing for a drink again, the shock of desire bringing a fresh wave of shame. The cravings have become less frequent, though by no means insignificant. His determination is stronger than ever now to resist, for Cameron and their child.

"Can we please get started on the case?" asks Foreman, sounding utterly disinterested.

"Yes," says Cameron, flipping it open and holding a marker out to Chase.

His hand shakes as he takes it from her, feeling suddenly self-conscious about his fingers brushing hers. Her skin is cold against his, and he has to stop himself from asking whether she's feeling all right. Instead he gets to his feet, going to stand by the whiteboard and telling himself that she knows how to take care of herself, will be responsible especially in light of her recent crisis.

"Lee Newgard," Cameron reads, sounding much more comfortable in this familiar role. "Thirty-nine year old male, successful businessman and father of two."

"Is that relevant?" asks Foreman, uncharacteristically grumpy this morning.

Chase wonders for a moment what has happened lately to make him so confrontational, but curiosity isn't enough to quell his instinctive protectiveness toward Cameron. "Stop interrupting."

"A year ago, Mr. Newgard was diagnosed with lymphoma," Cameron reads, ignoring both of them. "He was treated with chemo and appeared to be in full remission. He and his family were getting ready to go on a celebratory vacation two months ago when he woke up with a fever of 103. He was admitted to Princeton General, but all tests were negative. They treated him with antibiotics, and the fever remitted for a few days. Since then, the patient has had four more episodes of fever, most recently with severely low red and white cell counts. His oncologist referred him to Wilson, who passed the case on to us."

It isn't until Cameron has finished speaking that Chase realizes he hasn't written anything at all on the board. His mind is already racing, struggling to focus on the constellation of symptoms she's just listed.

"Lupus?" he asks, aware that the others are watching him.

"Previous doctor already tested for it," says Cameron, flipping through the file. "Negative."

"Are we sure it isn't a recurrence of cancer?" asks Foreman. "The low blood counts would suggest lymphoma."

"Wilson ruled it out," says Cameron.

"Oh, well, if Wilson says so," Foreman mocks. "Has anyone even spoken to him since House died?"

"I have," Cameron says sharply, surprising Chase.

"What about an infection?" he suggests, silently staring Foreman down. "He'd be immunocompromised from the chemo. And the fever responded to antibiotics before, right? What if there's something in his environment that keeps reinfecting him?"

"Like what?" asks Foreman skeptically. "A biohazard container he forgot he had hidden under the mattress?"

"It's worth a shot," Cameron interrupts. "Could be any number of things. He might not even know. I'll talk to the patient. The two of you, talk to the family." She closes the file with a snap and gets to her feet, not giving either of them a chance to say anything further before she leaves.

Watching her go, Chase is reminded again of his nightmares, of her detached professionalism this morning. Swallowing, he tells himself that his doubts are simply irrational fears, the product of too many scars, and tries to refocus himself on the case.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated! I think this is a little over halfway finished now, so I'd really like to know what your thoughts are. Still interested in that many more chapters?


	43. Chapter 43

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Forty-Three

Cameron feels even more exhausted after talking with the patient, her heart heavy with the worried look in his eyes. He's far too young to seem so resigned already, barely older than herself. The cancer has obviously taken a toll on his spirit; he seems ready give up, admit defeat to whatever illness is causing his repeated bouts of fever. The knowledge that he is a father breaks her heart, and she thinks about his children all the way back to the Diagnostics office, all the more resolved to save this man's life. The fact that he has already survived cancer makes her all the more determined to find another explanation for his symptoms, though she knows those feelings are irrational.

Chase and Foreman are already seated at the conference table as Cameron approaches the door, both regarding a whiteboard now full of symptoms. They aren't speaking, and she wonders whether they've run into yet another conflict. Silently she hopes that they've remained professional in front of the patient's family. She feels protective toward both this man and her department, not to mention the new struggle of keeping her fledgling relationship with Chase from becoming the latest topic of hospital gossip. He's obviously agitated this morning, she's noticed, and his lateness makes her think that her concerns about his nightmares are well-justified. But now she has to force herself not to think about those things, to focus on the case. He's managed to cope on his own and perform at work for the past few years, she tells herself, and he's certainly healthier now. She will have to trust him to take care of himself for the duration of the workday.

"Learn anything relevant?" Cameron asks, taking a seat at the table. The tension in the room is palpable, but the last thing she wants to do is open a fresh can of worms by asking what's happening between them. They cannot afford for personal problems to endanger their patient's life.

"Patient is a model father and has the world's most exceptional children," Foreman answers dryly. "At least according to his wife."

"You sound like House," says Cameron, taking a seat at the table. His obvious condescension is off-putting, but she doesn't want to have her authority called into question by starting an argument with one of her employees.

"No one's family is that perfect," Foreman insists.

"Not medically relevant," Cameron interrupts him, folding her hands on the table and turning to the board.

"Prior to getting sick, Mr. Newgard led a very active life," Chase adds, glancing at the chart on which he's jotted meticulous notes. "He frequently worked overtime, rode his bicycle several times a week, and was a leader in his son's boyscout troupe. Since being diagnosed with lymphoma, the patient has had to give up all of those things. His wife says he's been depressed, understandably. Since the fevers started, she's been concerned he might attempt suicide."

"Does she think he's making himself sick?" Cameron asks sharply. It isn't a guess she would have made based on her own interview with the patient, but she has to agree he seems depressed, and it would make sense considering the circumstances.

"She's not sure," says Chase. "But it certainly sounds like the family has done everything they can to help him. He's got a good support network. Though I don't think anyone would question his reasons for being depressed right now."

"So...what?" asks Foreman, looking unconvinced. "You think he's sniffing bacteria so he can get an infection and be hospitalized repeatedly?"

"No," Chase interrupts, irritated. "But I think he might be living recklessly if he's depressed. The family might not know."

Cameron swallows, knowing all too well that he's speaking from personal experience. Still, she hates the idea that their patient has given up, might be endangering his own life even after winning his battle with cancer.

"I don't want to discount the possibility that it could be something besides infection," she says quietly, flipping through the file again. Something catches her eye. "Ferritin is high. Hemophagocytic syndrome?"

"HLH is _extremely_ rare," Chase says doubtfully. "And the chemo could account for the high ferritin. Or any of the blood chemistry anomalies, really."

"No definitive test, either," Foreman adds. "And the treatment is immunosuppression. His immune system is already compromised from the chemo. If we're wrong, he'll die."

"A positive blood test would be a good hint." Cameron bites her lip, debating. This will be a gamble either way, they are absolutely right. And none of them can afford a mistake of such magnitude now. "Or a bone marrow biopsy." Taking a breath, she makes her decision. "The two of you, search the home. Look for anything to suggest reckless living. I'll do the blood test and the biopsy."

–

The ride to the patient's home is unbearably tense, filled with an unnamed hostile silence, and Chase is grateful that it isn't far from the hospital. Foreman has insisted on driving, a silent statement of mistrust. Chase resents it bitterly, though most days he still doesn't trust himself to be completely functional. The home is at the end of a street in a quiet little subdivision, and has the kind of yard Chase can picture children playing in.

As they get out of the car, he tells himself to focus on the case, not to think about how empty the condo still feels when he is alone, the fact that they have not even discussed the possibility of living together again. He's far too cautious to ask, acutely aware of how lucky he is that she has agreed to a second attempt at a relationship with him at all. He deserves nothing, he tells himself, yet his needs still seem boundless. Now that they've taken the first steps, he finds himself inevitably thinking about all the ways this could end. Before he'd been eternally optimistic, naïve, had believed in all the possibilities of their relationship despite Cameron's hesitation. Now that seems like a foolish risk, like he should have known disaster was coming all along. One night apart was all it took for him to have imagined a thousand scenarios of heartbreak; he knows he needs to focus on the moment, on being happy, but it's terrifying.

"Chase," says Foreman sharply, holding the door to the house open.

Chase realizes that Foreman must have been speaking for the past few minutes, but he hasn't heard any of it, too completely lost in thought.

"I'm coming," Chase answers brusquely, and hurries into the house, not wanting to seem distracted.

The house is small and cozy, not exactly cramped, and looks as though it's been remodeled in recent years. Everything is neat in a homey sense, but just a little bit too clean, betraying the fact that Lee Newgard is immunocompromised, that he has been ill and his family has had to compensate. Taking a few steps into the room, Chase turns on a light, his eye instantly drawn to a chest of children's toys in the corner, their bright colors reminding him again of the elusive future he doesn't dare believe in.

"Chase!" Foreman calls, sounding outright impatient now. He's holding a sample bag of something taken from the refrigerator. "Seriously, what is wrong with you today? You're more useless than when you actually were drunk and high."

"Cameron and I are back together," Chase blurts, his attention still focused on the pile of toys. A baby doll with curly blonde hair is resting on the top of the stack, and suddenly he can't stop picturing his own child playing with these things.

"What?" Foreman sputters, closing the refrigerator hard enough to rattle the glass jars of condiments in the door. "Well—that would explain her refusal to make eye contact with you this morning. When did this happen?"

"This weekend," says Chase, turning away from the toys. Suddenly he needs to hear the words spoken aloud, to have someone else know. It feels as though their relationship might not be real otherwise, might simply be a pretty lie he's told himself out of desperation.

Foreman narrows his eyes, flattening his palms against the surface of the kitchen counter and leaning forward ever so slightly. "Whose idea was it?"

"Mine," Chase says tightly, too well aware that Foreman won't like this idea, will judge it harshly no matter what. And yet this seems like a pivotal moment, one capable of breaking him, though rationally he knows that's ridiculous. Foreman, for all his words and judgments, seems incapable of figuring out his own marriage, let alone anyone else's relationship.

For a moment Foreman simply stares at him in silence, then sighs and shrugs. "Good luck."

"That's it?" asks Chase, surprised and instantly suspicious.

"What do you want me to say?" Foreman shrugs again. "You want me to tell you I think it's a terrible idea? I do. But you made the decision. You obviously thought the positives outweighed the negatives then. Do you want me to tell you everything's going to be fine? That you'll get a fairy tale happy ending? I'm not going to do that either. You have to do what you think is right. Just don't drag me into it again. I'm not interested in helping you repeat history."

–

The blood test is positive. Cameron runs it twice, and then a third time, trying desperately to convince herself that this is their answer, that Lee Newgard needs immunosuppressants immediately if he is to have any chance at all of survival. Her gut instinct tells her that this is right. Yet she knows the blood test isn't definitive, knows there is still a margin of error in which treating this man could very well kill him.

When she has finished and double-checked the blood test results for the third time, Chase and Foreman are still gone, presumably taking samples from the patient's home. Cameron has taken a bone marrow biopsy for good measure, though she has yet to analyze the results. She feels a fresh wave of anxiety as she prepares a slide, knowing that this could mark either more evidence in support of her theory or a further complication of this case. Sliding it into the microscope, she takes a deep breath, and is just about to begin adjusting eyepiece when Chase and Foreman walk in the door of the lab, startling her.

"You're still here?" asks Foreman, sounding slightly incredulous. "Thought you'd be back in the office by now. It's been almost two hours."

"I like the change of scenery," Cameron answers dryly, reluctant to admit that she's been down here the entire time debating her own test results. House has always taught them to do their own labwork to eliminate as many variables as possible, to be certain. But now Cameron feels as though she herself is confounding the case, unable to decide.

"Find anything?" asks Chase, moving to sit across from her. He seems strangely tense, avoiding her eyes, and Cameron wishes yet again that she could ask if he is all right, offer some semblance of comfort. But she knows those things must be off limits at work if they are to have any chance of separating personal from professional, if they are to avoid making the same mistakes yet again.

"Blood test is positive for HLH," Cameron admits, sighing.

"You don't sound happy about that," Foreman challenges.

Cameron shrugs. "I just wish there was a way to know for sure. It's a good clue, but we could still be wrong. And if we treat wrong, we kill him."

"I know," says Chase tightly. He looks at his hands. "We didn't find anything either. No alcohol in the house. Not even any prescriptions meds beyond the antibiotics he was given at Princeton General for the fever. And the whole place is perfectly clean."

"Doesn't look like there's anything in his environment making him sick," Foreman adds. "Of course, that doesn't mean he's not hiding something. But in my opinion, we should eliminate infection from the differential."

"You do the bone marrow biopsy?" asks Chase.

"Haven't looked at the slides yet," Cameron admits. "I was just about to when you got back."

"I'll do it," Chase offers.

For a moment Cameron hesitates, unsure of why he's volunteering. She knows he doesn't doubt her competence at this point, as much as she's spent the past few hours distrusting herself. And yet something is most definitely off about him today. Taking a breath, Cameron nods, thinking perhaps it would be best for him to have a distraction from whatever's bothering him, a new way to focus directly on the case. And they are less likely to misinterpret test results if they can come to a consensus separately, she tells herself.

Chase steps up to the microscope, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he turns to adjust the focus, but he still moves with precision, the surgeon's touch he has never fully lost. He is silent as he looks into the eyepiece, biting his lip in concentration. For several long minutes there is nothing, and Cameron tries to swallow the worsening anxiety churning her stomach. If there is nothing to be found here, they are back to square one, with no answers and a dying patient. She still can't say why, is reluctant to admit that this man might remind her of her first husband, but the stakes seem so much higher on this case than usual.

"Macrophages," Chase says finally, straightening. "Filled with red blood cells. That's full criteria for HLH."

Standing, Cameron looks into the microscope herself, confirming what he's just seen. When she looks up again, Chase and Foreman are both watching her, expecting her to make a decision. It's moments like this that she remembers she is in charge of the department, that the responsibility for this man's life is resting on her shoulders. They are no longer equals on the team.

"Treat him," Cameron says finally. "I don't think we can risk waiting any longer. This is our best shot. Someone is going to have to stay and monitor him overnight, though."

"I'll stay," Foreman volunteers quickly, surprising her. "It's getting late anyway. The two of you should head home. I'll go talk to the patient."

"Are you sure?" asks Cameron, wondering immediately what his motives might be in staying here overnight. But now is not the time or the place to push him further.

"I'm sure," says Foreman tersely, and leaves.

Cameron stands catching her breath, feeling oddly shaken by this entire exchange, utterly drained by this day. It takes her a moment to realize that Chase is still in the room, watching her in silence. They are alone now, she thinks, and the lab feels strangely more private than the Diagnostics office.

"What is it?" she asks finally, turning to face him. "You've been upset all day."

Chase takes a step toward her, lowering his voice. "Just—seems like nothing's changed today. Between us. Like—maybe—this weekend never actually happened."

"Robert," Cameron breathes helplessly, pained for him, knowing that this is worsening his anxiety. "Of course things have changed. I promised you that. But—you're my employee. The whole hospital is looking at our department right now. I can't—let them know."

Chase bites his lip, then nods slowly, taking another step toward her. Cameron wraps her arms around his waist, allowing herself a moment of comfort. Chase hugs back tightly, exhaling in a rush against her neck.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, against her ear. "It's just—hard."

Cameron thinks back to her conversation with Wilson, then decides, for now, to throw caution to the wind. This is not the time or place for rules and guidelines. "Do you want to come over tonight? We could order takeout. Watch movies on my couch."

"Please," Chase says softly, then steps back, swallowing visibly. He looks a little calmer now, though she can't be sure it isn't simply an act for her benefit. "We should get back to the office. I'll help you finish the paperwork."

* * *

Feedback is much appreciated!


	44. Chapter 44

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Forty-Four

Two weeks pass in an exhausting whirlwind of work and as many free evenings as possible spent at Cameron's apartment. The department is busier than ever before since her return to work. It seems to Chase that they are constantly improving in efficiency, but the referrals just keep piling up. Six months ago he would have bitterly resented Cameron's success as boss, hated her for it. Now he is proud of her, he realizes, though he still can't find words or strength to tell her.

He has been happier the past few weeks than he can remember feeling in years, and yet there still seems to be a hollowness at the core of their new relationship. For every moment of joy, a thousand painful memories are stirred, a mental tempest of what-if threatening his sanity. In the few free nights, in his times alone, he still is haunted by doubts, by fears, by the certainty that he doesn't deserve this. Cameron is still cautious with him, tentative, content to move slowly. In his rational moments, Chase knows it's for the best, that she is trying to protect them both from disaster. But when the nightmares come, he can't help thinking that she is ashamed of him, or perhaps even a little bit afraid.

It has just begun to get dark on Saturday night when Cameron shows up on his doorstep. Chase is contemplating takeout when her knock startles him. When he opens the door he has a breathless moment of deja vu, remembering the way she'd appeared at his old apartment the night he'd gotten fired by House. How that had been one of the first steps on the journey that ultimately landed him here in this place, with so much still uncertain. Tonight Cameron is wearing a black dress tight enough to hug every curve of her body, hair curling loose around her shoulders. Chase is speechless with the realization that for the first time, she is showing her pregnancy off to the rest of the world.

"Wow," he manages at last.

Cameron laughs, looking impossibly radiant in the streetlights which are just beginning to come on. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," Chase says quickly, feeling disoriented as he steps back to let her pass him. "Thought you said you had things to do today."

"I did," she answers lightly. "Today. I wanted to surprise you."

"I'm surprised," he says lamely, still shocked that she would go to these lengths for him. "What are we doing?"

"I'm taking you on a date," Cameron answers simply. "You'd better change."

Chase feels as though maybe he ought to be blindfolded as Cameron drives, a mixture of anxiety and excitement fluttering in his stomach. Throughout the course of their relationship, they have very rarely gone on formal dates, save for a couple of anniversaries. On those occasions, Chase had always been the one in charge of making the plans, taking the initiative at all. After Cameron left, he was acutely aware of the fact that he'd always pursued her, had bitterly resented that she'd ultimately scorned his efforts as though they'd been entirely meaningless. Now, he realizes with a slight shock, Cameron is the one pursuing him, and has been for months. He isn't sure what to make of that – it seems hopeful, terrifyingly so, and yet he remains entirely convinced that he deserves nothing of the sort.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks quietly, as Cameron pulls into the parking lot of a beautiful hotel he's driven past on numerous occasions, but never investigated further.

Cameron parks, then turns to look at him, brow furrowed into a slight frown, as though his question has caught her off guard. "I told you, I want to take you on a date. Do I need a reason other than that?"

Chase shrugs, suspicion flaring in the pit of his stomach. He has no _reason_ to doubt her, he tells himself, and yet he does. With every day that passes in the absence of some fresh tragedy, his fear grows greater, the sense of impending doom he hasn't been able to shake off entirely since first laying eyes on Dibala. A part of him is still waiting for some long-coming, unknown punishment. For every kind gesture of Cameron's, every action of affection, he feels as though the bottom is one step closer to dropping out from under him, as though the inevitable end will be that much more devastating when it comes.

"You never wanted to take me on dates before," he challenges, unable to help himself. There is still the insistent little voice at the back of his mind which tells him this will all hurt less if disaster happens on his terms, if he drives her away before she can decide to leave on her own. And though she's done nothing to validate his fears, he cannot completely silence them.

Cameron sighs, turning sideways as far as she can in the driver's seat. "Are we really going to do this now? I know you're scared. But this is just one date. One night. I wanted to do something nice with you, away from home or work for a change. I'm not trying to obligate you. I'm not—looking for any kind of commitment. Just dinner."

Chase takes a breath, swallowing hard. He tells himself it's a good thing that she's seen straight through his insecurities, though it shames him. But at least she's aware now, understands, and that is a great relief.

"Okay," he manages at last, trying to turn his attention back to the evening at hand. "I'm sorry."

Cameron shakes her head, smiling sadly. "Don't be. I get it."

"I'm still sorry," Chase insists, suddenly horribly guilty for doubting her intentions when she's being so thoughtful.

"I just want you to tell me when something's bothering you," Cameron says simply, then leans across the dashboard to kiss him lightly. "Come on. We have a reservation."

She takes his hand as they enter the lobby, leading him toward a candle-lit restaurant. He feels out of place suddenly among so many happy people dressed up for the evening. The suit he's changed into still fits a little too loosely, reminding him once more of just how much weight he's lost over the past three years, how much abuse he's put his body through. He grew up with expensive clothes and formal social functions, once felt most comfortable behind the shallowness of a flirtatious smile and a pretty lie. Yet now he feels as though he doesn't remember how to play the game, how to exist in a world whose biggest concern is being in fashion.

"It's okay," Cameron murmurs against his ear as they are led to their table, squeezing his arm lightly. Again he thinks it's as though she can sense his thoughts, his unconscious fears. He wonders whether she has always been this attuned, unbeknownst to him. And how, then, she could have been so wrong in her reasons for leaving, for ultimately ending their marriage.

Sitting across from her at the table, Chase feels as though they are at an unknown point in their relationship. The past two weeks have been filled with familiarity in spite of this fresh beginning; everything until now has seemed like an odd dream, filled with regrets and deja vu. But this is entirely new, paradoxically at once a blessing and a challenge.

"What are you thinking?" Cameron asks, when their food has come and still they're sitting in silence.

Chase bites his lip and twirls a forkful of pasta before putting it down again, watching his own hand shake slightly. There are still so many things he can't find words for, couldn't tell her even if he trusted the consequences. "Sort of feels like—re-entering the world."

Cameron pauses, looking slightly surprised. "Really? You've been back at work for two months."

Chase shrugs, glancing down at his plate again and trying to figure out how to articulate the peculiar sense that this is a trial by fire. "I know, but work is—work. Never really stopped doing that. Maybe it's backwards, but that's been one of the few places I still felt safe. But the rest of my life, I've just—wanted to hide as much as possible."

"Even now?" asks Cameron, taking another bite of her own food. She looks beautifully ethereal in the candle light, and again Chase is struck by the way her body is changing, showing the world the growth of their child.

"It's hard," he admits after a moment, remembering what she said in the car. "Feels like I don't remember what it was like to have a normal life. I don't remember how to be okay."

"Maybe 'okay' means something different to you now than it did before," Cameron suggests quietly.

"Maybe," Chase answers noncommittally. She is right, he thinks, in that he can't imagine ever again being the person that he was before the Dibala case. But he can't imagine ever again being truly happy either. Can't imagine deserving it.

"You don't think so?" asks Cameron, yet again surprising him with her perceptiveness. This time he wonders whether she has really changed, really understands him better now, or if he's been too jaded to see it all along.

"I don't want to just be _okay_," Chase answers after a moment, aware that he sounds petulant, and unable to meet her eyes. "I don't want us to just—get by. I still want everything that we were planning before. Everything you'd convinced me we could have. Only then I think about everything I've done, and I know that if I ever deserved those things, I sure as hell don't now." The sudden wave of bitterness accompanying that confession surprises him, and he takes a long drink of water to try to regain control. There's a bar at the far end of the room, and though Cameron has subtly positioned them so that she is the one facing it, Chase is very aware of its proximity. Now, as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him, he thinks of how easy it would be to simply walk over there, how badly he wants a drink.

Wordlessly Cameron covers his hand with her own, lacing their fingers on top of the table. The sudden contact breaks the spell of regret and craving, and Chase takes a deep breath, trying to re-center himself as he slowly meets her eyes.

"You want us to be disgustingly happy," she says quietly, squeezing his hand lightly. "Do you remember when you said that to me?"

"Of course," Chase whispers, swallowing down a rush of tears. Everything had seemed certain to him then, so filled with warmth and hope for the future. Now he can't imagine ever feeling that way again; there is a terrible sadness in the memory of such happiness.

At the front of the dining room is a small dance floor, and a silver-haired man playing a grand piano. A few couples are scattered around the floor, and Chase finds himself watching them, wondering whether their lives are what he once imagined for himself and Cameron.

"Do you want to dance?" she asks softly, surprising him.

"What?" Chase gapes at her for a moment, unsure of how to respond. It isn't the kind of thing they've ever done before, yet another first step. "I—don't dance."

But Cameron smiles warmly, getting to her feet and tugging gently at his hand. "Come on. I'm sure you're capable of swaying."

Swallowing, Chase lets her guide him out of his seat and onto the small dance floor. He doesn't recognize the piano music, but it's slow and bittersweet, stirring the myriad emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Cameron wraps her arms around his waist, looking up at him through her eyelashes. Returning her embrace, Chase rests his forehead against hers, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, and letting the music replace his thoughts as his eyes fall closed.

When the song changes, Cameron leans up to kiss him slowly. "I love you," she breathes against his ear. "We're going to be happy. I promise."

Chase chokes, feeling as though her words have cut through the last of his defenses. He is desperate for the sound of them, and yet they stir a thousand regrets, the weight of guilt which still threatens to crush him. He isn't ready to say them in return, doesn't feel worthy and is too afraid besides. Instead, he hugs her again, turning his face into her neck.

"I got us a room for tonight if you want it," Cameron says softly, tracing her fingers along his back. "I thought it might be good to just—get away for a little while."

Wordlessly, Chase nods, content for the moment to let her lead.

* * *

Reviews help me justify prioritizing fic over homework! (You know you want to help me procrastinate. =p)


	45. Chapter 45

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five

It starts just like any other case, or at least not so differently from the majority in Cameron's memory. She's at work early again, having left Chase asleep in the condo to go home and shower. Her apartment is nearly unbearable now when it's empty, reminding her of everything in their relationship which is still uncertain. They have been together for nearly a month, and already they seem to have reached an impasse, both ready for more than the superficiality of beginning again, but too afraid to move toward it. And so she spends as little time there as possible, leaving for work as soon as she's dressed and ready despite the early hour.

This time it's Cuddy who finds her, in her office again. Cameron sits up a little straighter in her chair, sucking in a nervous breath. She hasn't seen Cuddy in person since that disastrous day in the hospital, and though they've spoken pleasantly enough on the phone several times, she can't help but feel nervous in her boss's presence.

"Good morning," Cameron offers, hoping silently that the rumor mill has not already started churning out stories about her and Chase. They've done everything in their power to prevent assumptions, and yet she knows they've been in the gossip spotlight from the moment she returned to Princeton, her pregnancy only serving to heighten the interest. Cuddy will inevitably find out, and Cameron has the feeling that when she does, it will be even less pleasant than their previous encounter.

"I have a case for you," says Cuddy, surprising her. She holds out the file without taking a seat, and Cameron notices suddenly that she looks more tense than usual, clearly stressed about something on top of her typical weight of responsibilities.

Taking the file, Cameron waits for Cuddy to offer a further explanation. When she doesn't, Cameron opens the chart and begins skimming the information, acutely aware that Cuddy is still present and standing over her. On first glance she is uncertain what is so crucial about this case being taken by her department – the symptoms are more typical of influenza than anything stranger. But then the patient's age catches her eye – six months—and suddenly she knows without question why Cuddy is upset, can feel the beginnings of a new fiercely maternal protectiveness stirring in the pit of her stomach.

"Is there—any particular reason?" Cameron asks warily, afraid that there is more to the story than the simple fact that this is a baby who is sick. She understands now more than ever the distress of seeing another mother's child in jeopardy, but she's spent too many years working with House not to consider other possibilities.

Cuddy hesitates for a moment, then sighs. "Her mother's a nurse in surgery. I just hired her a few weeks ago. She's a single parent. NICU tried antibiotics already, with no effect. I know it's not the weirdest case you've ever seen, but if your team could spare a few hours, I think it could really make a difference."

"Okay," Cameron answers after a moment's hesitation. She decides that they will have to take this case at face value, without questioning further. And she wants to help this patient besides.

Cuddy turns to leave, then pauses in the doorway, regarding Cameron thoughtfully. "You and Chase? Just be sure you know what you're getting into. I don't want to lose either of you again. This hospital needs you both."

Cameron freezes, momentarily shocked beyond words. "You knew?"

Cuddy nods. "Wilson told me three weeks ago."

Cameron flinches, the words hitting her like a punch to the gut. She knows it ought not to surprise her that Wilson has betrayed her confidence, considering how everything he knew used to get back to House. And yet she hasn't expected him to tell anyone, has taken for granted that he would know how potentially damaging the knowledge is.

"Don't be angry at him," says Cuddy, as though reading her mind. "He did you a favor."

"By ratting me out to my boss?" Cameron asks bitterly, aware that she's being unprofessional. Etiquette seems pointless given the nature of this conversation.

"Yes," Cuddy answers bluntly. "You had to know I was going to find out eventually. Better from Wilson—who was more than willing to vouch for your sense of responsibility—than from the hospital rumor mill. You should thank him."

Cameron bites her lip, considering. "And you're not—upset? Going to try to stop us?"

"Well, I'm obviously not thrilled about it," says Cuddy, with a knowing look. "But you've worked together before. And your performance has given me no reason to feel the need to intervene."

"So that's just—it, then?" asks Cameron, still on the defensive.

Cuddy nods. "If I were you, I would keep talking to Wilson. He gives good advice."

In the outer office, Chase and Foreman are just arriving, apparently having walked up together. For a moment Cameron looks back and forth between them and Cuddy, wishing she had more time for this conversation. It's unsettled her, and doesn't yet feel resolved. But Cuddy simply nods once more, and then leaves. Taking a breath, Cameron picks up the case file and gets to her feet, aware as she always is recently that she is now visibly pregnant, even when dressed, even under a labcoat.

"What did Cuddy want?" Chase asks, as Cameron makes her way over to the conference table, and pulls out a chair. Before she can answer, he comes over and hands her a mug of coffee—decaf, she's certain. Before, he made such small gestures of kindness on a routine basis, seemingly almost without thought. But now she knows such a step is monumental for him, small progress even in the face of fear.

"She brought us a case," Cameron answers, taking the mug and smiling at him. "Thank you."

"We have a pile of referrals on your desk," Foreman points out, starting a separate pot of coffee for himself.

Chase sets his mug down and goes to the whiteboard, uncapping a marker and raising his eyebrows expectantly, evidently eager to start on the differential. Cameron wonders for moment whether it's another silent gesture of support, or if he's simply in need of another distraction from his anxiety. Either way, she's grateful for it.

"Cuddy wants us to take this case first," Cameron says firmly, opening the chart again. "And it'll only take us a little while. Then we can get back to that pile of referrals."

Sighing, Foreman takes a seat at the table. Once again, Cameron wonders what it is that's made him so much more irritable than usual; she's been so preoccupied with the ways in which Chase has changed since she's been gone, she has managed to overlook the differences in everyone else. But this is still not the time, she tells herself, and she isn't sure she has the strength to learn of anyone else's tragedies besides. She remembers suddenly seeing Thirteen at House's funeral, and how sick she had appeared then. She knows all too well the terrible weight of caring for a dying spouse.

"Are you going to present the case?" Chase asks, and Cameron realizes suddenly that she's been lost in thought for nearly a full minute.

"Yeah," she answers, shaking herself. "Elizabeth Speck. Six month old female. Presented to the ER yesterday morning with a severe cough and febrile seizures. Chest x-ray revealed a diffuse pattern of darkening consistent with pneumonia. NICU ordered broad spectrum antibiotics and antipyretics. No improvement. Cultures and a biopsy were taken this morning, but they're not back yet. If antibiotics aren't helping, chances are it's not bacterial, so they'll be useless anyway."

"Why are we taking this case?" Foreman asks again, as Chase finishes writing the symptoms on the board. "We have a diagnosis. It's pneumonia. We should move on to a case where we might actually be able to make a difference."

"The patient's mother is a new hospital employee," Cameron answers. She's been hoping to keep that bit of information out of the differential, reluctant to have hospital politics play any role in this child's treatment.

"There are lots of pneumonias," says Chase, capping the marker and tossing it up in the air, watching it flip over once before catching it neatly. There's a strange energy about him today, a sort of frantic confidence in his work.

"You said _new_ employee?" asks Foreman, sounding suddenly interested.

Cameron nods. "She's a nurse in surgery. Cuddy said she was hired a few weeks ago. She's a single mother."

"Do we know whether this is the mother's first nursing job?" Foreman continues.

Chase frowns, glancing at the whiteboard. "Are you thinking hospital acquired infection?"

"I'm thinking it could be relevant, at least," says Foreman. "Think about what usually happens to people who are new in the medical field."

"You get sick a lot, when you first start." Cameron looks down at the chart again as she begins to see the implications of this line of thinking. She wishes suddenly that she'd taken more time to ask Cuddy about the patient's history, spent less on talking about her own relationship.

Foreman nods. "Right. Then eventually, your immune system adapts. But she's a single mother. She's busy. She's probably rushing from work to pick up her kid at daycare. Maybe she doesn't always have time to shower. Maybe she doesn't always change. The baby would be a lot more vulnerable."

"For that matter, the baby could have picked up an infection at the daycare," Chase adds.

"We need to figure out what kind of pneumonia this is," Cameron agrees. "And I don't think we can count on the cultures to tell us anything. I think we should go do an exam. And talk to the mother. Maybe she can give us some answers."

"You're not going anywhere," Chase says sharply, surprising her.

"Excuse me?" Cameron is already on her feet, and turns toward him, crossing her arms. His tone is clearly confrontational, catching her off-guard.

"This is a woman with a critically sick baby," says Chase, taking a few slow steps toward her. "Probably with a contagious illness. She has a high fever and symptoms that could be pneumonia. Could be influenza. Could be any number of infections. And you're pregnant. You shouldn't be putting yourself or the baby at risk that way."

"I'll go," says Foreman quickly, already halfway to the door, as though sensing that this is about to get personal. He has always been practically repelled by emotional conversations.

"I don't need you to protect me." The words are out of her mouth before Cameron has even realized what she's said, and though she's instantly aware of how inappropriate her reaction is, she doesn't make any move to take it back. His words have struck at one of her biggest fears, that she won't be able to be both a parent and a doctor, that she will have to choose between her two worlds. Her emotions seem more and more out of her control lately, and though the pregnancy books she's been reading assure her this is normal, she can't help feeling completely unlike herself.

Chase snorts, suddenly completely on edge, his mood having shifted as quickly as her own. "Apparently I do. What were you going to do, just rush in there?"

"Yeah," Cameron snaps sarcastically, instantly resenting his implications that she isn't able to take care of herself, or would risk endangering their child. "I was going to go running in there and kiss the sick baby. Who needs gloves or a mask?"

"It's bad enough you're still working after you got so stressed that you almost miscarried!" Chase throws up his hands in frustration. "I mean, god, you're supposed to be taking it easy, and what do you do? Work overtime. And don't look at me like that. I know you've been coming in here every free moment you've got. You ditched me this morning so you could run back here."

"I went home to shower!" Cameron protests, feeling entirely blindsided. She remembers now how early in their relationship he let his complaints against her build up, how he has always avoided telling her what is actually bothering him until the situation explodes.

"I have a shower at my place!" Chase pushes, even more visibly upset now. He takes a breath, as though he's just realized that he's practically shouting and they are at work. "You could have stayed there just as easily. Come to work with me."

"We're not living together," Cameron answers, feeling claustrophobic. "I had every right to go home to shower and change. What is this really about? Is this about you thinking I'm putting the baby in danger, or is it about you wanting more than you've told me in our relationship?" As hopeful as she's been, it suddenly feels as though maybe all of the progress has been a lie, as though they are already repeating the mistake that ended in divorce in the first place.

"Seriously?" Chase sneers, his anger visibly escalating. "We were married! D'you really think I want us to spend the rest of our lives tiptoeing around like we're high schoolers on our first crush? I want you to talk to me! Act like you might trust me! I don't really care if you stay at the condo every night or not. But it would be nice if you'd tell me what you're doing before you just take off. Last time I checked that was the polite thing to do."

"You were the one who wanted to take things slowly!" Suddenly Cameron can't stop remembering her conversation with Wilson, feels as though she might have made a terrible mistake by not establishing boundaries then like he'd suggested. "And god knows you don't talk to me! How many times have I told you that I need you to tell me when something's bothering you? But you don't. You just let it fester until you can't control yourself and it ruins everything!"

Chase flinches as though she's hit him, and she regrets the accusation instantly. "Right," he says tightly, swallowing with difficulty. "I ruin everything." She can't be sure whether he's mocking or agreeing.

Cameron opens her mouth to answer, is in the process of desperately trying to scrape up some words that might save this conversation from careening toward the brink of total destruction. But before she can come up with anything, Foreman bursts back through the door of the office, lab sheets in hand, though he's only been gone a few minutes.

"What is it?" asks Cameron, forcing herself to turn away from Chase without offering him an answer.

"Cultures are back," says Foreman, oblivious to the tension in the room. "It's a good thing none of us did an exam."

"What does she have?" Chase asks.

Foreman puts the lab sheets down on the table, taking a breath before he speaks. "MRSA. It's eating her lungs."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	46. Chapter 46

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTES: Totally unrelated to fic, but I wanted to tell you all that I have an original short story published in my school's writers' festival magazine this year. If you want to read it, it's posted on my LJ, and there's a link in my profile.

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Chapter Forty-Six

Elizabeth Speck's mother doesn't want her daughter put on life support. Chase feels entirely drained by the time he finishes speaking to her, trying to break through her armor of despair. He has spent years working with critically ill patients, even in NICU, yet speaking with the parents of dying children never gets any easier. This time he feels as though he might be looking backward through the years, seeing in this woman's tear-reddened eyes his own mother's hopelessness. He tells himself he needs to remain in the present moment, focus on doing all that they can to help this family, but he cannot help feeling a twinge of resentment he knows is actually for his own parents. She is giving up on her baby, no matter the rationale. As he makes his way back to the Diagnostics office, Chase cannot help thinking about his own child, and the lengths he already knows he would go to for the protection of his family.

"What are we doing?" asks Foreman, when Chase gets back to the office. He is alone, seated at the conference table and reading a file Chase can't quite make out.

"Nothing," says Chase, shrugging out of his labcoat and going over to the coffee pot. He doesn't really want the caffeine, is on edge enough as is, but he feels the need to have something to do, something mindless to focus on.

Foreman frowns. "No treatment?"

"That's what I said," Chase answers flatly, setting a filter in the coffee pot.

"We could try surgery," says Foreman, looking up. "Remove the worst areas of infection. It's not a great option, particularly in such a young infant, but it might give the antibiotics a better shot of having an effect."

"And you think I didn't tell her that?" asks Chase, frustrated. He knows that Foreman still views him as largely incompetent, despite the fact that he has never had a problem performing at work, in fact has been better at his job in recent years than ever before, shocked to find referrals for himself rather than House.

Foreman shrugs. "Surgery is very high risk, so I guess that's understandable. We could also try a ventilator. Help the baby breathe and see if her immune system can rally on its own. Did you tell her that?"

"Yes!" Chase snaps, accidentally spilling some of the water he's been trying to pour into the coffee pot. "I told her both of those options. I told her everything we could try. She doesn't want surgery. She doesn't want life support. It was all I could do to convince her to continue the antibiotics. She's convinced that her baby is going to die, and all she wants is for us to help that happen as peacefully as possible. I spent an hour arguing with her. If you think you can do better, be my guest!"

"No," says Foreman after a moment, sounding almost maddeningly calm. Chase cannot imagine being unaffected by this case, is having difficulty remembering how he was ever able to treat children without feeling everything so deeply. "If she said no treatment, and you were thorough, I'm not going to waste my time."

Chase sucks in a breath, forcing himself not to react to that. The idea that attempting to convince this mother to continue fighting to save her baby's life would be anything resembling a waste of time stirs a wave of anger in the pit of his stomach. And yet he reminds himself that he has given up as well, has declared defeat in the face of this woman's despair. This is not his child, he tells himself, attempting to swallow the flood of emotions and focus on the gentle gurgling of the coffee pot. It is not his place to play God. And the odds of saving this baby even with a last desperate attempt at surgery or life support are miniscule. In his heart Chase knows her mother is being realistic, yet he himself feels unable to give up, even on someone else's baby.

"Where's Cameron?" he asks finally, bothered by her absence and memories of the morning's fight. He's distracted himself with his last-ditch effort to save their patient, barely even thought about what's happened since Foreman returned with the MRSA diagnosis. Now he wonders whether he was wrong in volunteering to talk to the mother, whether he should have stayed and tried to immediately make things right with Cameron instead.

"Don't know," says Foreman, as he flips a page in the chart he's been reading since Chase walked in. "Said she had to go check on something. And I don't want to hear about it. I'm not your marriage counselor."

"We're not married," Chase snaps sharply. It's just one more thing that scares him about the future; he can't imagine ever being happy or hopeful or certain enough to marry Cameron again, and yet any other end to their relationship seems unthinkable. Willing himself to focus again, he turns back to Foreman, trying to keep his anxiety at bay. "What is that? Another case?"

"No," says Foreman, not elaborating further.

Irritated, Chase makes his way over to stand behind Foreman's chair, trying to see what he's reading. The chart includes several sets of test results, and a brainMRI image showing a large tumor. Then his eye is drawn to the identifying label at the top, and the patient's name, in smudged permanent marker: _Hadley_.

"That's—Thirteen's file?" Chase stammers, feeling as though he's been punched in the gut. Foreman has obviously intended him to see, reading it in the office, not even trying to hide, and yet he feels blindsided. This revelation makes so many things over the past few months fall into place: Foreman's unusual irritability, his readiness to work late.

"She has a name," says Foreman tightly, handing the MRI over to Chase in one quick motion. "And yes, she has a brain tumor. Inoperable. As if she wasn't dying fast enough."

"I'm—sorry," Chase manages after a moment, still feeling winded. This is the last thing he's been expecting, though now he wonders whether he ought to have noticed. "When did this—"

"A few weeks after House's funeral," Foreman answers curtly, not giving Chase time to finish his question. "Remember the drug trial I was running four years ago?"

Chase nods, biting his lip as he looks over the MRI. The tumor is already large, undoubtedly complicating Thirteen's worsening Huntington's symptoms. Without treatment, she will unquestionably die, and soon.

"Brain tumors were one of the complications then." Foreman slams the file shut with a snap. "Looks like we weren't out of the woods like we thought."

"I'm sorry," Chase repeats, at a loss. Years ago he thinks he might have known how to offer support to Foreman, but now he simply feels blank, confused, bewildered. It occurs to him that he can't even suggest they go out for a drink, though that ironically seems the most appropriate option.

"I'm not talking about this any more," says Foreman abruptly, getting to his feet. "I brought this to ask Wilson for a consult. Go find Cameron. Save your own relationship while you still can."

–

It takes Chase nearly three hours to work up the courage to take Foreman's advice. He spends the time waiting outside the NICU observation area, watching their patient's vitals fall and trying not to imagine himself in her mother's position. In truth he's surprised by his outburst at Cameron; all he knows for certain is that he's been on edge since waking up alone, his anxiety only worsening with the revelations of their case. He knows it is his own failure that's landed him here, that it is his responsibility to take heed of all Cameron's warnings to be open with her. And yet he finds himself too afraid more often than not, certain he doesn't deserve to ask for anything she hasn't offered, and terrified of losing his relationship again should he push her too far. But now he knows he's made the biggest mistake of all, the one she's warned him against at least a dozen times, not to mention acting unprofessionally at work.

As he makes his way to the locker room, knowing instinctively that is where she must have gone, he's half certain that it's only to face the end of this miraculous second chance, take responsibility for the wreckage he's made yet again. Sometimes it seems to him as though all the most important things in his life have begun and ended in this room, and he stops outside for a moment, trying to collect himself and shake off the memories. Images of the past threaten to overwhelm him: the look on Cameron's face as she'd confessed to finding her engagement ring, her tears of relief as he'd asked her to picture their future together, the horrible hollow weight of long-coming ruin he'd seen in her eyes when he'd told her his plans to rejoin House's team.

Taking a breath, Chase forces those thoughts away and pulls open the door. Cameron is sitting on the bench at the far end of the room with her back to him, staring at the wall. She doesn't turn as he makes his way over, sliding onto the bench beside her and watching her sideways, in silence.

"I'm sorry," he manages after a moment, swallowing. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. Especially not at work."

"No, you shouldn't have," Cameron answers, still not looking at him. Tension practically seems to radiate off her body, hurt and anger evident in the sound of her breathing.

"I was scared," Chase manages after a moment. It takes all of his strength to be honest with her, especially now, when he's certain he deserves nothing but rejection and hurt. But he knows he has no choice, no hope but this, if any at all.

"You actually thought I was going to go rushing in there to examine a patient with a contagious illness without taking any precautions at all?" She turns to face him at last, the lines of her face hardened into a bitter mask of betrayal. "I'm not an idiot."

"I know that!" Chase answers quickly, horrified by her interpretation of his concern, though he knows he hasn't exactly delivered it in the best way. "I know you would never intentionally do anything to put our baby at risk. But this—_this_ baby is _dying_. And I'd never even considered that possibility."

"I hadn't either," says Cameron tightly, looking at her hands, which are clasped white-knuckled in her lap. "Let me guess. You think I should resign. Stay at home to make sure I don't get too stressed again, or exposed to some horrible illness."

"I didn't say that," Chase interrupts, dismayed at her assumption. He can't picture her without her career, cannot imagine her being happy without it, and though he is now terrified of the possibility for harm, he already knows it would be too much to ask of her. "You know infections like this are _extremely_ rare. The baby could've picked it up at her daycare just as easily."

"Great." Cameron snorts softly, glancing at him, then away again. "So as long as we never use a daycare and put ourselves through a decontamination shower before we go home, we should be fine."

"Allison." Chase takes a breath, cautiously laying a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs him off. "We'll figure this out."

"Will we?" Cameron gets to her feet, finally turning to face him completely. "Because I don't know if we will. Right now, I'd say we're sure as hell not ready to be parents."

"Why?" asks Chase sharply, unable to stay completely calm in the face of her obvious anger. He knows that he deserves it, but it's hurtful all the same. "Because I made a mistake? Got angry?"

"Yes!" Cameron practically spits, finally exploding. "Because you made the _same_ mistake you always make! Because this is _exactly_ what ruined our marriage! Because it doesn't matter how many times I tell you we need to talk about things, you never change! I'm starting to think that maybe you actually can't! God, it's only been a month and we're already back here."

"Allison--" Chase tries again, getting to his feet. She is exactly right, he knows, and there's nothing he can say in this moment to prove her wrong.

"Don't," Cameron interrupts, surprising him by starting to cry in earnest. "Don't apologize. I'm tired of you apologizing when nothing ever changes."

"I'm trying," Chase manages, feeling completely helpless. He thinks suddenly of Elizabeth Speck's mother and her despair, standing by as she watches her baby die. Of Foreman reading endlessly the file that spells out Thirteen's death sentence, as though he might find some hidden answer. Of his own hopeless grief just before Cameron walked out of his life.

"Just go," she says darkly, hurling the words like a weapon.

"No," Chase answers firmly, surprising himself. Swallowing, he gets to his feet, taking a few steps toward her. "Keep yelling at me if you want to. But I'm not giving up on this."

Instead she simply looks at him, as though she isn't sure what to make of this moment, breathing hard through her tears.

"I'm not ready for us to live together either," Chase admits quietly, taking her hands. "I just—really don't like it when you leave without telling me what you're doing. I should have made that clear."

"You should have," Cameron says quietly, though her anger seems to have lost its fire. She doesn't pull her hands away.

"I need you," Chase breathes, feeling as though he's at the edge of a cliff, her hands the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity. "I know you're scared too."

Wordlessly, Cameron starts to cry again, harder this time. Sucking in a breath, Chase takes the final step, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding on hard as she sobs into his shoulder, her entire body shaking. Chase feels dizzy with relief, surprised that he's faced the beast of this fight and everything has not ended. He wonders for a moment if this is what it might have been like had he found the strength to be honest with her three years ago, to ask for the help he's so desperately needed. But then he pushes those thoughts away, forcing himself to focus again on the present moment, and the faint unfamiliar beginnings of hope.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated! (I will seriously fall over and die of shocked joy if I break 700 reviews with this chapter. And then I'll have to be a ghost writer. ^_~)


	47. Chapter 47

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

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Chapter Forty-Seven

One week after Elizabeth Speck's death, Cameron is at her own doctor's office, watching her baby's heartbeat on the ultrasound monitor. Chase sits nervously in the corner, alternating between looking at his hands and the image on the screen. He seems oddly out of place here despite all of his training, despite his eagerness to come to this appointment. It's almost as if he's afraid to claim his child as his own, and though she's had other ultrasounds, this is the first time he has accompanied her. Everything feels surreal as Cameron listens, her mind only half in the present, already feeling pulled into her future, watching the possibilities spread out in her mind's eye.

The baby is a girl. She hears this, and this alone clearly. Until this moment, she has refrained from trying to picture her child's life beyond the few concrete things she already knows for certain: the color of the newly-painted nursery, the plans she's begun to make while reading her small library of pregnancy books. But now she finds herself envisioning an unknown yard filled with crisp autumn leaves, bouncing blonde hair and the sound of her daughter's laughter. Cameron still feels as though she might be in a trance of expectation as the appointment ends and they walk out of the hospital; she makes it all the way to the car before realizing where they are, and that Chase has been carefully holding her hand the entire time.

"I'm driving," he says lightly, though he takes the time to open her car door for her. They've come to work together today, in anticipation of the appointment, and though sharing a ride ought to be entirely familiar by now, it feels like a minor milestone for Chase, one more step toward normal.

"Why?" asks Cameron curiously, as she gets in. She doesn't mind—it is _his_ new car after all—but he's made a show of the gesture, and she has the feeling he's expecting her to ask.

"Because you're too distracted thinking about that ultrasound," he chides gently, but he's smiling more brightly than she's seen in years, a silent show of exactly how much this appointment has touched him as well.

Cameron matches his smile, watching him sideways as he steers the car out of the lot. "I don't know, in a few months I'll be too big to fit behind the steering wheel, and then you'll wish you'd taken advantage of days like today."

Chase laughs at that, and Cameron finds herself relishing the sound, thinking it's still entirely too infrequently that she gets to hear it. He seems much less depressed of late, and sometimes less anxious, though the nightmares never get any better. Yet there still seems to be a strange hollowness about him, as though he's lost pieces of himself along the way, and can't quite get them back. She misses them, especially in moments when she can glimpse that side of him again, like looking backwards through the years and all the many layers of hurt. He is different now than when they got married, undoubtedly, and she is slowly beginning to reconcile herself to the fact that things are never going to be exactly like that again.

"We're having a girl," says Chase, breaking the silence as he pulls into Cameron's apartment complex and parks. Once again she's lost track of time, surprised to be here already.

"Are you just now realizing that?" Cameron teases, though she understands the need to speak the words aloud, to make them real. Stepping out of the car, she breathes in the first chill of autumn in the air and tries to picture her daughter's smile.

"No," Chase answers petulantly, locking the car and following her up the walk. "It's just—I don't know what to do with a girl."

"But you would know what to do with a boy?" Cameron glances at him over her shoulder as she unlocks the door.

Chase frowns, brow furrowed in nervous thought. "No. I don't—really know what to do with babies at all. Aside from if they need medical treatment."

"Well, I don't plan on giving birth to a miniature adult, so I think you're out of luck there," Cameron answers dryly, dropping her bag onto the couch.

Chase snorts, throwing his jacket on top of her bag and loosening his tie. His things have begun accumulating at the apartment, Cameron has noticed recently, though they haven't discussed living arrangements again, and he hasn't gone so far as to let it seem intentional. "I guess we'll have to come up with a name now, won't we?"

"Pretty sure we would've had to do that with a boy, too," says Cameron, enjoying his rare good humor.

"Are you going to call your parents and tell them the news?" Chase asks eagerly, moving over to the window and looking out. "Your mum'll be happy. Didn't you tell me she was disappointed that your brother's kids are all boys?"

And just like that, the spell is broken. Cameron freezes, shocked to be suddenly face to face with one of the anxieties that has plagued her dreams for months now. "I—haven't told them," she manages, unable to meet his eyes. Chase is not going to take this well, she knows, no matter how hard she tries to make him see her reasoning.

"What, that it's a girl? I know, that's what—" Chase stops mid-sentence, as though he's just understood the meaning of her statement, blanching. He swallows visibly before speaking again, having obvious difficulty keeping his voice even. "Oh. You mean—you haven't even told them that you're pregnant. Allison, it's been five months."

"No," Cameron admits, feeling sick. She knows she ought to be ashamed of her decision to keep such a huge part of her life from her parents, but it's become her habit since the divorce. Their perception of her personal life in the past three years is a complicated web of lies and half-truths, necessitated by her determination to protect Chase even when they weren't together.

Since returning to Princeton, she has barely spoken to them, knows they view her choices as a betrayal, a rejection of all their support after she'd showed up on their doorstep amidst the wreckage of her marriage. Now, she has no idea where to even begin telling them about the healing that has started to take place in her life; it is impossible without first telling the truth about the past. Now she feels overwhelmed with frustration and resentment over the fact that this can't be simple. She knows she can never tell them the truth, or even let them have any concept of how complicated the situation is. She ought to be celebrating this with everyone she knows, yet she's bound by the lies she's told to keep Chase's secrets.

"Do they know—about me?" asks Chase, not meeting her eyes.

Cameron swallows, willing herself to remain calm, to somehow salvage this situation before it becomes the next—or last—in their latest string of fights. "They know that we're working together. That we're back in touch."

"But they don't know that we're together," Chase says sharply, without even pausing to consider the answer she has offered. "I guess I wouldn't tell them about me either, if I were you. But it's gonna be sort of hard pretending that you made a baby all by yourself."

"Robert," Cameron says weakly, already feeling as though everything is spinning out of her control, emotional whiplash from elation to resentment in the space of one afternoon. She has made this journey too many times in recent years.

"What were you gonna do?" asks Chase, his voice edged with the familiar bitter venom which had been reserved solely for her when she'd first returned. "Just have me hide in the closet every time you went to visit them? Or weren't you planning on keeping me around that long?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Cameron answers, taking an uncertain step toward him. Every muscle in his body seems taut now, on edge in a way she hasn't seen in months. Despite everything they've been through, everything that has happened, this is the angriest she's seen him since that night in the condo, surrounded by shattered glass. "I'm not trying to keep anything from them."

"Oh, right!" Chase laughs again, but it's an ugly sound this time, bordering on hysterics, nothing like just a few minutes before. "You just forgot! For five months! God, don't insult me, Allison. You've been lying to me this entire time."

"About _what_?" Cameron sits heavily on the couch, feeling as though she can't catch her breath, can't get enough air to find the words she so desperately needs to fix this. And really, that's the problem, she realizes – there were no words to talk to her parents, to explain why she could not remain with him three years ago, or that she has learned it was a mistake. Now there are no words to convince him of the truth of her intentions, of the sacrifices she has made for him.

"Everything!" Chase explodes, coming to stand over her. This is nothing like their usual fights; there's a raw power to him now, and Cameron feels a thrill of fear. She has never been afraid of him before, at least not in this way. But they are in such unknown territory now that anything seems possible. "You made me think we could actually try again, make things work!"

"We are!" Cameron insists, sitting up straighter She has been nothing short of absolutely sincere in her intentions for their relationship. Knowing his past traumas, she understands the leap he's made into suspicion, but can't help being hurt when she's worked so hard for his wellbeing. They have made so much progress recently that she's begun to be hopeful for their future, yet now she finds herself questioning whether he might actually be too damaged to ever again be truly happy.

"No, we're not." Chase sucks in a rough breath, the muscle in his jaw jumping. "This whole time, you've been pushing me to be open, and you—God, I'm an idiot. I actually thought—You're ashamed of me. You should be. But don't fucking mess with my head!"

"I love you," Cameron whispers.

"Don't!" Chase yells, loudly enough to make her jump. He is completely out of control now, more uninhibited than he's been even when drunk. "Don't you dare!"

"Shut up!" Cameron flies to her feet, surprising herself with the intensity of her response. "Do you have any idea how hard it's been, not being able to tell them what happened? You're right, they _should_ know about the baby! They _should_ be a part of this! They already think I'm a self-destructive idiot for moving back here at all. What am I supposed to say? 'Sorry, my husband killed a guy and I thought I couldn't live with him, but now I've realized I was wrong! And oh, by the way, I'm pregnant. Maybe we could have tiny handcuffs as a shower theme!'"

Chase simply stares at her for a moment, stunned into silence, looking as though she's hit him. She's been harsh, she realizes, but she doesn't regret it. He has let his anxiety overpower reason once again, endangering their relationship by assuming the worst of her when the truth could not be more the opposite. He must learn this, if they are to have any chance at all.

"Fuck," he breathes hoarsely, at last.

And then she's kissing him, roughly, almost violently, as though she might somehow be able to show him the multitude of emotions she cannot express in words. The depth of her guilt for leaving him scarred this way seems fathomless, a pool of sick coldness at the core of her being. If he is too damaged now, it is her fault; she would not be caught in this dilemma had she stayed with him in the first place. And yet, being falsely accused of lying to him, of manipulating his fragile trust, has hurt her deeply all the same. Chase makes a guttural noise in response, his hands coming up to tangle in her hair, pulling her closer as though he might be able to protect his soul through pure physical force alone. Cameron fumbles with his belt buckle, tugging at it until it gives, then moves on to his slacks without pretense. He is already unbuttoning her shirt, pushing her clothes off of her with a hunger that makes her entire being ache. Turning them both around, Cameron pushes him down onto the couch and straddles his lap, grazing her teeth along his neck as soon as he's managed to get his shirt over his head.

His chest is heaving, reminding her of the day he'd thought he was dying. They'd been in desperate need of a distraction then too; when words are not enough, sex has always seemed to be their answer, and Cameron finds small comfort in the fact that at least they still have this, for this moment. Chase takes hold of her hips, guiding her down quickly. He throws his head back with a harsh cry when she takes him inside of her. Cameron leans to kiss him again as she starts to move, hard and fast, matching the rhythm of her panicked heartbeat. She hasn't noticed him crying, but she tastes the tears of a thousand broken promises on his skin

Chase sobs loudly as he comes, and the sound drags Cameron over the edge into her own orgasm, though she's not sure anymore whether this is ecstasy or pain. She collapses against him, and he doesn't move to push her away, instead laying the palm of his hand against the flat of her back.

They will get through this, Cameron thinks, because they have to. Because of the morning's appointment, and the image of the ultrasound monitor she knows is burned just as strongly into his memory as it is her own. And yet, even as her cheek rests against his bare chest, and some of the tension falls away from his body, she cannot stop fearing the distance her past failures have driven between them again this day.

* * *

Feedback is my inspiration! (I would say don't kill me, but I died of happiness over breaking 700 reviews, so I guess I'm safe from that. =p For real, though, please don't give up on this fic just because there's lots of angst. I promise you won't be disappointed if you stick with me until the end.)


	48. Chapter 48

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

_**NOTE: There will not be an update this Sunday, April 4th, because of the holiday and because I am up to my ears in getting ready to take the GRE next weekend. Chapter 49 will be up Wednesday, April 7th. Sorry if that causes any emotional hardship. =p**_

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Chapter Forty-Eight

Chase feels as though his heart might explode out of his chest, pounding deafeningly in his ears as he struggles to catch his breath. It's been weeks since he has panicked this badly, and though the symptoms of an attack are familiar, this time he is completely unprepared, blindsided. As much as the revelation itself hurts, it's worsened tenfold by the shock, by the salient contrast of the previous moment's joy. He's promised himself for months that he will not become invested, will not allow himself to be hurt again in that way. Yet he has fallen to temptation, he realizes now, been so desperate for happiness that he's forgotten every defense, made himself completely vulnerable to disappointment. And while he believes Cameron now that she has been lying to protect his secrets, he is also absolutely certain that she is ashamed of him. The fact that her parents are still unaware of their relationship is another risk; eventually they will find out, and when the time comes for Cameron to choose between him and her family, he cannot see any reason for her to stay.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, amidst the clamor of anxiety, he knows he has responded inappropriately in his anger toward her. He feels betrayed by her failure to be up front about her relationship with her parents, certainly, but beneath that, he knows unquestionably that this is _his_ fault. His past crimes have ruined their marriage, his conscience, and now threaten their daughter's future. He has known all along that he doesn't deserve to be happy; now he is more certain of that than ever. It was a mistake to ever let himself become involved again with Cameron in any way, he thinks, as he breathes in the scent of her body, feeling her heartbeat slow beneath his fingers. He should have left town the instant she came back, to save her from his own damnation. Now, looking down at the swell of her belly, he knows that he will not run, will not try to save himself. He will stay for the sake of their child as long as she will let him, regardless of the cost to his own sanity. His only struggle now will be to protect his family from his demons; he will not relive his father's mistakes.

"I'm sorry," Chase murmurs, anger displaced by an overpowering sadness which crushes the breath from his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I ruined us."

"What?" Cameron looks bewildered, moving gingerly off of his lap to sink heavily into the couch beside him. "You didn't. I messed up by not telling you. You got angry. It's more than understandable."

"Didn't mean today." Chase swallows against the tightness in his throat, unable to continue that thought.

"Oh." Cameron looks at him, then away, understanding.

There is a long moment of silence in which Chase listens to his heart pounding again; it seems to be in competition with the ticking of the clock on the wall, and so far is winning the race. Cameron is looking at the far window, but her eyes are even more distant, and it unnerves him that he can't tell how she's feeling. Feeling suddenly chilled, Chase looks around her apartment, but it feels inappropriate to pull the afghan from the back of the couch and wrap it around himself now. In the past few weeks, this place has begun to feel more like home, but now everything seems uncertain again, as though his Earth might be spinning off its axis.

"What now?" asks Chase, swallowing with difficulty. He feels stretched to the brink, consumed by a thousand fears, doubts, regrets. They have agreed at least a dozen times that they will talk through their problems, yet he feels entirely unable to view this disaster rationally. It seems beyond the realm of logic; there are no words for the way he is feeling.

Cameron takes a breath, still not looking at him. "Well, we could have dinner, I guess."

"Not what I meant," Chase replies sharply, inhaling another fresh wave of resentment. She wants to move beyond this, he realizes, let these secrets continue to eat away at both of them. If he does not insist that they talk things through, she will be more than willing to simply act as though this fight has never occurred. She will have to tell her parents something eventually. He needs an answer to how they will deal with this, and he needs it before his fears grow even more overpowering. This is a threat to their relationship, and her readiness to pretend it does not exist stirs still more doubts in his mind.

Cameron sighs. "Can we talk civilly about this?"

"Thought that was how you wanted us to handle our problems," Chase answers, not even trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. He remembers suddenly her hesitance in their relationship the first time around, all of her many fears. It took him years to break down her walls; it had seemed an honor then, being the only one allowed to slowly and carefully reach past her scars. Now she has been doing the same with him, he realizes, only the things he has kept hidden away have the potential to destroy them both.

"You're right." Cameron gets to her feet slowly, retrieving her clothes and pulling them back on, as if they are yet another layer of armor. "We need to talk about our relationship."

Eying her sideways, Chase scoops up his clothes as well, pulling on his boxers and undershirt. She could not be further from understanding what he needs, and he cannot find the words to tell her. The idea that this can simply be solved by yet another discussion of their relationship seems ludicrous; he is a _murderer_, and in the past month has somehow impossibly allowed himself to begin forgetting this fact. Of course she cannot share her joy over having a child with him; she shouldn't be happy about having him in her life at all. He's been a fool to think that all he needed was proof of her trustworthiness, that if he could convince himself to love her fully, all might be right in his life again. Those are pettily selfish wishes, and he is a monster.

"Wilson said we should—talk about boundaries," Cameron says, pulling a throw pillow into her lap, fingers playing with the fringe at the edge. She looks clearly uncomfortable, but all Chase is aware of is his heartbeat pounding in his temples, like his head might burst, overwhelmed by too many fears.

"You talked to _Wilson_?" Chase asks, choking on the shock. "About—us?"

"He just wanted to help!" Cameron amends quickly, obviously aware that she's made his upset worse again. "I wanted—advice. Another perspective."

"Right," Chase scoffs, wondering suddenly just how many others she's told about their relationship, how many people know more about his own personal life than he does. And what she has or has not told them to cover up his secrets.

"What, I'm not allowed to want advice?" Cameron turns toward him, looking defensive again. "Like you haven't been talking to Foreman?"

"That's different," Chase says lamely, instantly realizing his mistake. The rational part of his brain says he's being unfair to her; of course she should be allowed uncertainties, and the need to talk them out with someone on the outside. Yet he still feels as though they have been living a lie for the past month; he has convinced himself that their relationship is stronger now than ever before, but this day has revealed a host of weaknesses. Suddenly he sees this thing between them as thin as a pane of glass, straining beneath the weight of history and already shot through with a spiderweb of cracks.

"Wilson said we need to be proactive this time," Cameron continues, more firmly. "We need to talk about what we're going to do differently, how we're going to keep ourselves from rushing."

"Little late for that," says Chase, feeling sickened. They ought to be talking about what she will tell her parents when the time comes, how they will protect their daughter from the knowledge that she is the child of a killer. He feels caught between two equally terrible possibilities: if he leaves, he will be no better than his father, but if he stays, his very presence will endanger his family.

"I know," Cameron answers, her voice faltering slightly. "I'm sorry. I wanted to think it could just be simple this time. Just—be happy and enjoy it."

"Nothing about us has ever been simple," Chase says sullenly. "Don't know why you'd think it would be different this time."

"You did too," Cameron accuses, sounding surprised. "I know you did, or you wouldn't have been so upset by finding out I haven't told my parents."

Chase bites his lip and is silent, knowing she is right. More than anything else, he is angry at himself for allowing his defenses to fall, for letting himself forget the eternal punishment he has earned with his sins.

"I just think we need to talk about things," Cameron insists.

"Fine." Chase swallows again, willing himself to look calm for her benefit. The only way this will end is if he convinces her that things are still all right, he realizes. He should have gone along with her earlier attempt to pretend that nothing has happened. He doesn't have the strength to say the things that need to be said, to bring the truth to light once again. The image of their daughter's growing body on the ultrasound monitor is burned into his mind; he cannot bear the thought of leaving now, though he is half convinced that is the only right thing to do. He is too selfish still to fully seek redemption; he would rather live a condemned lie. He must keep these things hidden from her, or the threat to his new family will only continue to grow. "What do you want us to talk about? I'm listening."

Cameron takes a breath, seemingly pacified by this, and Chase feels a brief moment's relief that she seems to believe his deception. "I know I need to tell my parents eventually," she says carefully. "I never meant to keep this a secret from them. I just—wasn't sure how to go back on the things I told them before without being able to tell them the truth. They're not going to be happy about it, either way. As far as they're concerned, you ruined my life."

Chase feels those words like a punch to the gut, but wills himself not to react, simply nodding instead. "What—boundaries—do you want us to have?" He doesn't want to discuss her parents any further right now, cannot bear it if he is to keep up his facade of calm.

"I'm not sure." Cameron pulls a loose thread from the seam of the pillowcase in her lap, then turns it thoughtfully, checking for bits of stuffing coming out. "I just—don't want us to rush. It's only been a month and we're already practically living together. We had so many miscommunications before. I just think we should talk through things before either of us makes any major decisions."

"Okay," Chase answers quickly, willing this conversation to be over. His entire body is crawling with anxiety and grief for things not-yet-lost.

"Okay?" Cameron looks surprised, as though she's expected an argument from him. "That's—it?"

Chase shrugs, exhaling carefully. "Yeah. We can do that."

Smiling, Cameron leans over to kiss him. Chase feels strangely disembodied as he brushes his lips against hers in response; it's as though he is watching himself on autopilot, every fiber of his awareness still caught up in a cyclone of anxiety. Almost before he knows what he's doing, he's gotten to his feet, retrieving the rest of his clothes and pulling them on.

"What are you doing?" asks Cameron, looking puzzled.

"I—should go," Chase manages, struggling to button his shirt. His hands are shaking, and he is suddenly certain that he can't handle this without the vices he's given up. "I've got errands to run. And it's getting late."

"Oh." Cameron looks surprised, but she doesn't push, much to his relief. "Do you want help doing—whatever it is that you need to do?"

Chase shakes his head, his thoughts already on what he will do after he leaves here. "You should rest. You're the one carrying a baby around inside of you."

"Okay." Cameron gets to her feet, taking his hands for a moment and looking at him thoughtfully. "But you would tell me if you were upset, right? Because we just agreed that we're going to do that."

"I would," Chase answers firmly, guilt churning his stomach. It is for the best, he knows now. The only thing he needs to change is his ability to continue keeping these things hidden from her. They will be better off that way.

Cameron smiles, looking radiant in her obvious relief, blissfully ignorant. "I'm really glad we had this conversation. I know it's not easy, but we're doing so much better this time."

"Of course." Kissing her on the cheek, Chase scoops up his tie, and his keys from where they have been sitting forgotten on the coffee table. "I'll see you in the morning."

He doesn't look back as he makes his way out of her apartment and down the stairs to his car, his heart beating so fast he's certain it might stop at any moment. Black spots dance before his eyes as he unlocks the driver's side door and climbs in, and he has to stop for a moment before driving.

Chase remembers the way to the liquor store all too well, can find it without a single thought. His mind is blank as he finds what he is looking for and makes the purchase, surrounded by comforting denial. The bottles seem to fit perfectly into the curve of his palm as he throws his jacket onto the couch in the condo and picks one up.

The whiskey burns all the way down his throat and into his stomach like cleansing by fire, deeper than guilt, regret, damnation.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated! (I know you want to yell at me. =p)


	49. Chapter 49

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

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Chapter Forty-Nine

Wilson is at his desk when Cameron arrives at work the next morning. It's still dark outside, but she can see the light on from across the outside balcony. She has slept fitfully, plagued by strange dreams edging toward nightmares, her entire consciousness saturated with anxiety. She trusts Chase, believes that they will get through this, that in fact they already have talked through the worst part of their latest fight. Still, every time they argue, it stirs a fresh wave of doubts in her. And he has a point besides: she will have to come up with something to tell her parents, and soon.

She has always imagined having children, having a family of her own. She knows that her parents are proud of her in their own way; after all, she has done well in her career. Yet they are also intimately familiar with the constant ruin that is her personal life, and though they have been largely supportive, she is aware that they pity her. They are under the impression that she has set herself up to have two failed marriages, that she lets her self-destructive tendencies hurt her repeatedly. And though a part of her has spent the past three years wondering whether they might actually be right, she still can't bear the thought of telling them a lie which will confirm their fears that she has fallen into that pattern yet again. Taking a breath, Cameron steps out into the cool morning air, which is eerily reminiscent of the night she first returned to Princeton to see House on his deathbed, and slips through the door into Wilson's office.

"Hi," he says, looking vaguely surprised as he closes the file he's been engrossed in.

"Hi," Cameron echoes, suddenly unsure of why she's come over here to talk to him. She can't tell him what has actually happened, at least not the truth of it. And she knows Chase wouldn't approve of her discussing their relationship with Wilson; he has made that all too clear. Still, she feels a desperate need for guidance, or at the very least reassurance that she has taken the appropriate steps to avert disaster.

"Did you need something?" asks Wilson. He looks exhausted as he always does of late, and Cameron wonders yet again whether he's gone home at all. He and House were living together before she left, she remembers now, though at the time it had hardly seemed significant or surprising. Now she thinks it must be hard on him, going home to an empty apartment.

"Something—happened last night," Cameron says after a moment. She feels too restless to sit, instead slowly pacing the length of Wilson's office. In the past few days, she has begun to feel tiny flutters of movement from the baby, and this morning they are frequent, almost rhythmic, as if somehow her unborn daughter can sense her anxiety.

"With Chase?" asks Wilson, though it's not really a question. "I'm assuming that's the only reason you'd be here. If it was something about your pregnancy, you'd be talking to Cuddy. And anything else, you'd be talking to Chase."

Pausing, Cameron regards him for a moment in the dim light beginning to filter in from the sunrise outside. As always, she isn't sure how much she trusts him, but it seems as if this might be the right time to take a leap. She's trying to move forward in her life, after all. "I haven't told my parents that I'm pregnant. Or that I'm—back with Chase."

Wilson frowns slightly, though not judgmentally. "That—seems like a pretty big thing. He found out about it last night?"

Cameron nods, biting her lip. "He took it really badly. Obviously. But we talked about it some, and he seemed fine when he left."

"But you're still unsettled," says Wilson, uncannily perceptive as always. "I guess it would be hard to tell your family that your marriage ended because your husband killed a man."

For a long moment all Cameron can do is gape at him in stunned silence, swallowing down the wave of nausea his statement has aroused in her. As far as she has been aware, she and Foreman were the only ones living who knew Chase's secret. Now she wonders how many others House might have told before his death, how much of a threat they might have been unaware of all along.

"Don't worry," Wilson continues, obviously aware of her fears. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

"House told you," Cameron accuses. "How do I know you're the only one who knows?"

"He told me just before he died," says Wilson, folding his hands uncomfortably on the surface of his desk. "He said—in case something happened."

Cameron frowns, confused. "Something happened—like what? He was dying. He knew that."

But Wilson shakes his head. "Not to him. To Chase. House asked me to keep an eye on him."

"_You_ knew what was going on with him?" Cameron is filled with a sudden wave of anger at this knowledge. Wilson must have known the extent of Chase's addictions and suffering even before she did, yet he has done nothing to help thus far. "Why didn't you do something?"

"You were already here," says Wilson simply. "I thought it was best not to interfere."

"Except when you told me to start a relationship with him," Cameron challenges, feeling violated. In truth, the things Wilson has done have all turned out for the best, but the stubborn part of her still resents his secrecy, the fact that he has subtly manipulated her without her knowledge.

"Allison," he says gently, in the voice that she has seen him use so many times to soothe terrified patients. "I haven't done anything other than help facilitate what was already going to happen. And look at how things have turned out. You and Chase are happy. Of course you still have some things to work through. That's to be expected after everything that's happened in your relationship. It's natural for you to have an argument now and then. But nothing horrible happened as a result, did it?"

Cameron takes a breath, forcing herself to take his words to heart. "No. It went—better than most of our arguments, actually. We talked our way through it."

Wilson nods. "You're doing all the right things. Stop questioning yourself."

Cameron exhales, smiling slowly. "Thank you."

–

Chase wakes from the grips of a nightmare to an overwhelming wave of nausea, barely managing to stumble to the bathroom before retching violently. For a moment all he's aware of is the protestations of his body, the sheer discomfort of it all as he dry-heaves, struggling for breath, gold pinwheels of oxygen deprivation dancing before his eyes. Then, slowly, his vision clears, and he remembers exactly what's happened to land him here in this position.

Swallowing down another wave of nausea, Chase flushes the toilet and gets to his feet, trying to avoid looking at his reflection in the mirror; he cannot bear even to meet his own eyes. He's passed out on the couch, still fully dressed, and a quick glance at his watch tells him he needs to be at work within a half hour if he doesn't want to arouse suspicion.

On the nightstand, one full bottle of whiskey remains from his previous night's purchase, seeming to beckon him from its place beside its empty companion. Taking a breath, Chase tries to steady himself. He knows better than to drink before work now, and yet the need is there already, as strong as if he might never have stopped. He also knows he can't leave the bottles here in plain view, for fear that Cameron might decide to come over after work and find out. Swallowing a pang of guilt, Chase scoops up both, and reaches into the closet, carefully tucking them behind the single bin of wedding memorabilia which remains at the condo. He knows already that the whiskey's presence will remain burned into his memory until he can be alone here again.

He isn't entirely sure how he makes it to work, but he manages to get there on time, wearing clean clothes which might be something resembling acceptably coordinated. His head is throbbing already, his throat still burning with the remembered aftertaste of vomit, though he's done absolutely everything in his power to make sure his breath doesn't smell of alcohol. He keeps his head down as he enters the hospital's atrium, feeling irrationally afraid that everyone can tell what he's done, can somehow see it on him. It gives him an eerie sense of not-quite-deja vu. Never before has he particularly cared whether anyone at work knew about his drinking; before Cameron returned, it was a gamble of self-destruction he was half-hoping would get him caught. But he knows the guilt all too well, the way he'd been certain that everyone would somehow know about Dibala. Now the two events seem merged in his mind; _everything_ in his life now comes back to the simple hard fact that he is a murderer. He makes it all the way to the elevator without incident, then nearly runs smack into Foreman.

"Hey," Chase manages after a moment, trying desperately to regain his composure. "Sorry. Didn't see you."

"Yeah, because it's really dark and crowded," Foreman mocks, raising his eyebrows. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," Chase answers quickly, punching the up button, though it's already lit. It seems to him as though time is stretching out, becoming longer in the presence of Foreman's scrutiny. Again he finds himself struggling to keep his breathing even; it seems impossibly silent for a busy morning at the hospital, and he has the feeling that everyone might be able to hear his heart pounding as loudly in his temples as he can.

Foreman glances sideways at him as they step into the elevator, waiting for the door to close before speaking again. "You're hungover."

"Why the hell would you say that?" Chase snaps, realizing too late that he's being overly defensive. His only consolation is that they are alone in the elevator. Still, he knows there is no way that Foreman will keep this from Cameron.

Foreman looks smug. "Because you look like crap. And not just generic crap, the signature crap look you mastered while Cameron was gone. Besides, you just confirmed it if I had any reason to be doubtful."

"I'm not hungover," Chase answers futilely, knowing that Foreman is already convinced. Continued denials will do nothing but irritate him, but Chase hates this feeling of condemned helplessness, and so persists regardless.

Ignoring him, Foreman steps off the elevator and out into the hallway, walking away at a pace that forces Chase to hurry after him. His head is screaming, nausea threatening to overtake him again, but this time adrenaline is stronger. They get halfway down the hall toward Diagnostics before Foreman surprises him by stopping in front of an empty patient room, grabbing his arm and yanking him inside. Chase nearly stumbles, blinking in confusion as Foreman pulls the blinds shut and closes the door.

"What are you doing?" he manages after a moment, breathless. Foreman is frantically going through storage drawers, pulling out supplies. "We don't have a case."

"Are you going to tell Cameron what you did?" asks Foreman, turning to confront him again.

Chase goes silent, choking on any kind of a response. In his heart he knows that he ought to, in the spirit of honesty in their new relationship. But that would defeat the entire purpose; he has only turned to the alcohol to help him keep his demons at bay, to protect her and their child from the evil he is certain resides within himself. If Cameron finds out, she will leave. This knowledge is at once a nightmare and a relief, because he _knows_ that he can't leave her. When, inevitably, she learns of his failure, she will be gone. Until then, she will at least be safer this way.

"No," Chase breathes at last. "She doesn't need to know. She's got enough to worry about with the baby."

Foreman studies him critically for a long time before answering. "Are you going to get help?"

"No," Chase repeats, more confidently now, shoving his hands into his pockets as they start to shake. Now that he's made his decision, it's easy to find a solid footing in the lie. "It was one mistake. A slip. That's all."

Foreman nods once, curtly. They have always been good at accepting one another's lies when it comes to personal problems. "Come here."

"Why?"

Holding up the IV supplies he's gathered, Foreman takes a breath. "If you don't want Cameron to figure it out, you're going to need my help."

* * *

Thank you for all of your support on the last chapter! Feedback is always appreciated!


	50. Chapter 50

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Fifty

Chase learns to play a dangerous game with himself.

One slip turns into two—as he's always known it would—then a second trip to the liquor store when his first purchase has run out. This time he buys four bottles instead of two, avoiding the clerk's eye. It's a different greasy college dropout behind the counter now than when he was last here in the spring, and that is a small relief, though he knows it will take the boy only a few days to learn to recognize him and his habits for what they are.

Four bottles turn into another four, and then more still, until the entire top shelf of the bedroom closet is filled, the bin of wedding memorabilia nearly entirely obscured. He's learned to drink in the space between the end of work and meeting Cameron for dinner, to slip away in the middle of the night, to wake before dawn in time for the immediate effects of the alcohol to be hidden before he has to leave for work.

Sixteen days stretch out, nebulous, ephemeral, marked only by the blessed oblivion of the bottle and the painful waiting periods in between. By the time the bottles stretch out onto the nightstand again, Chase has stopped fearing the day that Cameron will walk into the condo unannounced and find them. He's murmured a few convincing lies in her ear, in time with the rhythm of her heartbeat just after sex. She's happy with his request to take things more slowly and deliberately, to spend fewer nights together, and preoccupied with preparations for the baby besides.

In the part of his mind that is still rational, he knows he ought to feel horribly guilty for deceiving her. Instead, he finds himself caught in a bizarre sort of bitterness; that she has not yet discovered him feels oddly like a betrayal. The past few months he's allowed himself to be lulled into thinking that she understood him, saw and accepted even his ugliest parts. Now he knows that was all a lie, a pretty illusion birthed of a desperate loneliness, the wish to be undeservedly happy again. Watching her excitement as she begins shopping for their baby, decorating the nursery beyond the coat of hope-laden paint they've given it, he feels as though he is an outsider, damned to only observe.

It isn't quite dawn yet, and he's alone in the office, despite the ever-present moment of anxiety when he first walks in the door, knowing the possibility that Cameron might be here. It has already been three hours since he last dared drink, and his hands shake badly as he pulls out a chair and sinks into it. Chase fingers the bottle of Valium in his pocket, letting the craving grow to the last possible moment, bubbling up in the back of his throat until his skin crawls with it. Then, snapping the lid off, he rolls a pill between his fingers before dry-swallowing it, the harsh scraping of its edges along the back of his throat reminding him that this is real. Sitting back in the chair, he takes a breath, waiting to feel relief. Paradoxically, the pills are the only part he's feels ashamed of; he needs them now to get through the times in between, to keep up his facade of sanity.

He can't say how long he's been sitting there when Cameron walks into the office, though the sun is high on the eastern horizon already. His hands have steadied, and he finds that he can nearly meet her gaze as she comes over to the table and shrugs out of her coat. The Valium casts a warm haze over him, the kind of feeling that he might once have been able to confuse with contentedness.

"You're here early," she says by way of greeting.

Chase shrugs, getting to his feet to kiss her quickly. Again he feels as though he's operating on autopilot, going through the motions of a normal, happy life.

Cameron pauses for a moment with her hands on his shoulders, regarding him thoughtfully. Chase feels his stomach drop, verging on nausea, and he swallows hard, trying to reassure himself of her backward faith in him, at least when it comes to this. She is ashamed of everything that he is, he's certain, yet she seems to take it for granted that she's successfully rid him of his vices, made things simple again. Everything seems strange now, upside down, as if he's crossed over into the world of his nightmares.

"I tried calling you last night," she says, after a moment. Her tone is one of concern, and perhaps vague hurt, not suspicion or accusation. "I know you said you wanted space, but I really needed to talk to you about—"

"Fell asleep watching TV," he answers, before she can finish her thought. He's perfected the art of lying in the time that she's been gone; the words now fall from his lips more easily than the truth. They are safer, their cost lower. "Guess all the sleepless nights caught up to me again." It isn't an implausible excuse—it's a pattern he's repeated many times before.

Cameron looks at him for a second longer before nodding, seemingly satisfied, though there's something a little off about her this morning. She looks more tired than usual, he realizes, struggling to focus through the Valium's haze. He tries to remember what it was like when this was his constant existence, when he managed to do some of his best work despite the drugs, despite the alcohol, despite the terrible hollowness that seems to have seeped into his very being.

"I'm glad you finally got some sleep," she says, distractedly, an afterthought as she makes her way over to the coffee maker and puts on a pot of decaf. It's an odd ritual, especially since he remembers her admission that she drinks coffee only for the caffeine, not for its taste. But now it seems as though everything around her must remain routine, carefully in its place.

"How are you feeling?" asks Chase, trying to make himself concentrate on the way that she's moving, to see whether she might be in pain again, if the baby might be in danger. There's definitely something off about her, but he still can't place what it is, and it sends little prickles of anxiety down the back of his neck despite the warm numbness.

"Fine," Cameron answers offhandedly, too fast. Still, Chase knows better than to think that she would hide another threat to the baby from him. She trusts him now, he tries to remind himself, at least superficially. If she didn't, this wouldn't be a problem, he would not have to protect her from himself.

"I don't believe you," Chase presses gently, trying to remind himself what normal concern feels like, how he ought to sound. His voice seems to echo in his ears, his heart pounding. The time between clandestine drinks has been growing steadily worse, despite the aid of the Valium, and he knows in the back of his mind that soon he will be in true trouble, unable to hide what he's doing.

Cameron frowns, stirring milk into her cup of decaf. "What do you mean? I said I'm fine."

"You seem upset," says Chase, getting up and going to pour his own mug.

He's reaching for the milk when he notices his hand beginning to shake again, though watching it in front of his face, it doesn't feel like a part of his own body. Waiting for Cameron to turn away, he reaches into his pocket and pops the cap off the bottle of Valium one-handed, swallowing another pill with a mouthful of coffee, scalding his tongue. In truth he doesn't know how much time has passed since the first pill, but he knows he's taking more than before. It's been less than a week, but the bottle is already starting to feel empty, too light in his pocket. He's told Foreman the prescription is for anxiety, but they both know it's a lie. If Chase weren't so desperate, he might question Foreman's motives for helping him; as it stands, he's content to accept that this is a case in which Foreman is not helpless, and leave it at that.

"I'm not upset," Cameron insists, her voice breaking through the innumerable thoughts racing in his mind. She takes a sip of her coffee. "I'm pregnant and hormonal. That's all."

And still something is clearly wrong, but Chase feels lost in his own mind, unable to focus. Before he has a chance to make sense of anything that he's seeing or feeling, Foreman walks into the office, ER file in hand.

"Got a case," he says simply, not even taking the time to remove his coat before spreading the file out on the table.

"You're late," says Cameron, a clear edge of accusation in her voice.

"I was talking to the patient's mother," Foreman counters, ignoring her as he begins writing symptoms on the board. The letters seem to blur together, and Chase finds he can't make sense of them, can't make them into words, much less a pattern which might lead to diagnosis.

"You could have let me know first," Cameron continues, more obviously on edge than ever.

Chase crosses his arms and sinks into a chair again, wishing he could simply leave this to the two of them without arousing suspicion. His head is swimming as the second pill kicks in, and though the tremors have ceased, his stomach is still roiling with anxious nausea.

"I'm letting you know now," says Foreman evenly, capping the marker and turning back to the chart. "Seventeen year old male—"

"I wasn't finished," Cameron interrupts, moving to confront Foreman directly.

It's rare that she gets angry about anything work-related, and when she does, it's over issues of far more consequence than simple tardiness. Chase bites his lip, wondering silently whether to believe her explanation for her mood this morning. He realizes suddenly that he can't say whether she has seemed more hormonal over the past two weeks leading up to now, or more emotional in any way. In fact, he scarcely remembers any of the time he's spent with her, except in the knowledge that she is completely consumed by work and her excitement over the baby, that she doesn't suspect anything has shifted in their relationship.

"What do you want me to do?" asks Foreman, clearly frustrated now. "Grovel? I'm trying to present this case. Although if you'd rather spend the morning discussing our team pecking order, I could let the mother know that."

"I want you to act like my employee!" Cameron explodes. "Both of you! We are not equals in this department!" For a moment there is only silence. Looking at the floor, she lets her eyes fall closed for a moment and inhales slowly, looking ashamed. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

Foreman eyes her for another long moment, then seems to decide not to push the issue further. "Seventeen year old male. No relevant medical history, previously healthy except for the occasional cold or flu. Last month, he experienced an episode of confusion, dizziness, and memory loss while taking the SAT. Patient was taken to the emergency room at Princeton General and examined by a neurologist there. They ruled out stroke and TIA, and sent him home with instructions to rest and watch for a recurrence."

"And that recurrence happened?" asks Chase, feeling the need to take part in the case somehow, though he still can't seem to focus his thoughts on what an actual diagnosis might be.

Foreman nods. "Last weekend. Saw the same neurologist. No explanation. This morning, when it happened a third time, the paramedics happened to bring him here."

"And the ER referred him to us," Chase finishes, swallowing. He wishes there were no case, so that he might be able to spend the day finishing paperwork, or doing mindless exams in the clinic. Those days seldom come anymore.

"If it wasn't a stroke, it could be cardiac," Foreman suggests. "We should do an EKG. And maybe a stress test."

"I assume you did a full neurological exam already?" asks Cameron. She paces a few feet, then stops.

"No," Foreman answers, "but I watched the ER guys do it. It was normal."

"According to the ER," Cameron challenges, already on the offensive again. "Do it again."

"According to me!" Foreman throws up his hands with an exasperated noise. "It was normal. It was done less than an hour ago. If you're going to flex your department head muscles by making me waste my time on a useless test, at least make it one the kid hasn't already had three times."

"Fine," Cameron answers coldly. "Go do an EEG. Mini strokes might not show up with the resolution of a CT scan."

Without another word, Foreman picks up the file, and leaves the office.

"What is going on with you?" Chase asks, as soon as the door is shut again. Finally, in his anxiety over her behavior, his thoughts have singular focus, and things seem clear. "Yeah, Foreman's disrespectful to you. He's always disrespectful to you. Usually you're trying to brush it off. So what happened to make you more upset today?"

Cameron freezes, looking surprised that he's called her bluff. Taking a breath, she catches her lower lip between her teeth, pressing the color out of it before she speaks. "I told my parents last night."

"About—us? And the baby?" asks Chase, his hand going instinctively to the pill bottle in his pocket again as panic washes over him. But he doesn't dare take it out in front of her.

Cameron nods, not meeting his eyes. "I told them I've been lying, saying that things didn't work out with you. That I just got—scared, because it was going too well, and I'm afraid of commitment. And that after coming back here—" She breaks off, taking a ragged breath which makes Chase fear what's coming next. "They don't want anything to do with me now. Including phone calls. They didn't even want to know when the baby was due before they hung up on me. So I sure as hell hope _you_ feel better now that I've done it."

The words seem to stick in the back of his throat, mixing with the bile there to choke away the air. It's all Chase can do to turn away and vomit onto the carpet.

* * *

Feedback earns my eternal love! (Or wait, should I say it only earns my love until the next chapter? =p Thanks again, for all your support so far!)


	51. Chapter 51

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Fifty-One

"I don't believe him." Cameron rests her hands on her hips as she watches Foreman stick his head into a cabinet, and lets her anger bubble up in the pit of her stomach. They've come to the patient's house on her suggestion, though she can hardly remember why she made the argument for toxins, or much about the case at all for that matter.

Chase has gone home sick, insisting that he's caught the latest round of enterovirus from the clinic, and is too dangerous for her to be around while pregnant for fear that he might be contagious. Her instincts tell her that he's lying, avoiding her because he's upset over what she's said to her parents, and once again refusing to share his feelings despite her constant insistence that they must if they are going to make any kind of progress in their relationship. He's been distant ever since her original confession of failing to tell them, but that had been understandable, and she'd been grateful for his willingness to respect the boundaries they'd finally discussed. This was supposed to fix things, she thinks, at least with him. Now everything is twice the mess, and she feels both exhausted and betrayed by all the people she loves most.

"You don't think Chase is sick?" asks Foreman, his voice muffled slightly. He's on his knees under the patient's sink, examining the labels on bottles of cleaning supplies. This family seems completely devoted to green living from what Cameron has seen so far, with an obvious lack of harsh chemicals in the kitchen and bathroom. Still, she's willing to bet that any number of eco-friendly cleaners would make someone sick if ingested in large enough quantities, though the boy seems obviously too old for _that_ to be their answer.

"I think he's sulking," Cameron answers, for lack of a better word. Inwardly, she's still reeling from the conversation with her parents; she'd known that they wouldn't be happy, but to have them suddenly turn their backs so completely after so many years of support is a sickening shock. More infuriating is their seeming lack of care for their granddaughter, their unwillingness to put their differences aside for the sake of giving the baby a united family, though she still hopes that might change. That Chase is reacting so badly makes her the angriest of all; in acting this way, he's making it about _himself_, when all she's wanted was some sign that taking this risk on him was not a mistake.

"Did you ask him?" Foreman closes the cabinet and straightens, washing his hands in the kitchen sink. He sounds uncomfortable as he always does when discussing other people's personal lives, though perhaps more tense than usual today. Biting her lip, Cameron wonders what might be going on in his marriage, then decides that she cannot bear to take on anyone else's tragedy today.

"Yes," Cameron insists, reaching up to open a cabinet to the left of the oven. It's filled with spices, but they all look innocuous enough. She's gotten distracted again, she realizes with a pang of guilt, not even fully aware of what they've already searched here. She's letting her personal life interfere, failing to focus on the case. There is no excuse, she tells herself, though from the repeated test results, the boy doesn't seem to be in imminent danger. "I told you, he said he's sick. That I shouldn't be around him because of the baby."

"And you don't believe him," Foreman parrots frustratingly, seemingly even more unwilling than usual to truly commit to this conversation. "There's nothing here. We should go back to the hospital, talk to the patient and his mother again. Maybe they can tell us something."

"What, you think they've been hiding things from us?" Cameron crosses her arms, willing herself to stay calm. That she's edging steadily toward third trimester hormones is making everything that much more difficult, eroding her hard-learned self control so that she is forced always to question her objectivity. "They want an answer."

"I think you're distracted and that this is a waste of time," says Foreman bluntly, retrieving his coat from where he's discarded it on the couch and sliding his arms into the sleeves.

"Thanks," Cameron snaps tartly, though she's entirely aware that he's right. She feels helpless in this situation, at the mercy of both the people around her and her own emotions. She has always prided herself on being ultimately rational, on being able to find logic despite the strength of her feelings. It was the most important skill she'd learned from House, but now that resolve seems lost, despite her repeated attempts to hold onto it.

"Seriously," Foreman repeats, already at the door of the patient's house. "Do you want to work on the case, or do you just want me to be your therapist? Because I'm interested in helping this kid."

"Don't talk to me like that!" The words are out of her mouth almost before she's realized what she's saying again, another wave of frustration sweeping over her immediately. He's testing her, she's aware, and she's failing repeatedly. Her reaction has confirmed his accusations entirely.

Foreman sighs, turning back over his shoulder to face her on the patient's doorstep. "Seriously, maybe you should go home too. I know you're pregnant and hormonal. But it doesn't matter. If you and Chase can't keep your personal lives from interfering with patient care, then neither of you should be here."

"No," Cameron insists, swallowing. "I want to work." The thought of going home now, of confronting Chase so close on the heels of the previous night's disastrous phone call is overwhelming, and her sense of duty to the patient is too strong besides.

"Fine," Foreman answers. "Then stop thinking about Chase and work. If you want to know what's going on with him, talk to him. I don't want to be involved again."

–

Chase isn't sure how he makes it back to the condo – it no longer feels like home, has slipped once again into the strange emptiness he'd felt during Cameron's absence. By the time he's made it in the door, he has no memory of driving here, is aware that it's a miracle he has done no harm to himself or anyone else.

He barely manages to stumble into the kitchen before vomiting into the sink, the force enough to knock the breath from his chest and leave him gasping, choking. Against the backs of his eyelids he sees Dibala's image, familiar now, but never any less terrifying. In the flashbacks, in his nightmares, it is the eyes he remembers, haunting him though he knows at the time he was met only with unconsciousness. Now, he sees disappointment, and his thoughts shift abruptly to Cameron, the look of betrayal on her face when she'd seen his reaction.

She has no idea, he thinks, as he makes his way into the bedroom, the condo spinning around him as he collapses heavily onto the bed almost without a second thought. That she hasn't followed him here is already a miracle all its own, a temporary reprieve before ultimate disaster. If she is this angry over the idea of him reacting badly to her parents' decision, he is absolutely certain she won't even look twice when she finds out everything he's truly done, will be gone again in a heartbeat, and he will die here, alone among the ruins of his life.

The bottles on his nightstand are all empty, no whiskey left in the condo; he'd planned to make another purchase tonight, to stock up for a few more days at least. But now he knows that is not an option. He doesn't feel strong enough to walk down to the store. More importantly, he can now see the depths of the mistakes he's made. In trying to protect Cameron and the baby from his guilt, he's damned them further. He has never expected her to sacrifice her relationship with her parents for him, cannot imagine being worth so much to anyone, especially now. And yet she has, clearly in spite of knowing the risks, and has paid the ultimate cost. Now she will be left with nothing, alone when she finally sees how completely deplorable he is, even after she's given him everything.

With every bit of desperate strength he's able to muster, Chase pulls himself to his feet, somehow managing to make it into the bathroom to vomit again. It's scarcely been six hours since his last drink, but already his body feels as though it's being ripped apart. Withdrawal will be worse this time, he knows, without help it will undoubtedly kill him. His cell phone must still be in the pocket of his coat, he thinks, crumpled on the couch in the living room. In this moment, he still has the physical strength to go and get it if he chooses, though just barely. Instead, he rests his cheek against the cold tile of the bathroom floor, feeling goosebumps rise on the back of his neck as he closes his eyes, head swimming with pain.

He isn't sure how much time passes; there is only pain and elusive oblivion, and the ghosts of all the people he's failed. From the mire of his nightmares comes the image of his mother, pale and bleeding amongst the wreckage of broken glass, her skin tinged the sickly yellow of jaundice. Chase finds himself watching in helpless agony as she drags herself up, selects two of the largest and most jagged fragments of glass and methodically draws lines of crimson across her wrists. He has no strength to do anything as he watches the pool of blood spread, the life beating from his mother's heart onto the floor. And then it is Cameron's blonde hair instead, her lifeless body amongst the wreckage of his addiction.

With a gasp, Chase opens his eyes; there is so much pain that he can hardly see straight, but the bottle of Valium catches his eyes, lying within arm's reach from where it must have rolled out of his pocket. Scrambling, he manages to capture it in his palm and pop the top off. One dose could ease the pain for a little while, he thinks, could even save his life. But he dismisses those thoughts immediately: he deserves neither of those things. Instead, he begins counting the remaining pills, weighing the odds of successful suicide should he take them all at once.

"You're a coward," House's voice intrudes without warning.

Chase flinches, nearly losing his grip on the bottle of pills. House is standing over him when he looks up, his face contorted into a mask of disapproval.

"Why?" Chase manages, shocked by the sound of his own voice. It doesn't occur to him to be surprised by House's appearance this time; his mind is already haunted by a multitude of ghosts. "'s what I deserve. Gonna die anyway."

"Bullshit," says House, stamping his cane on the tile for emphasis. "That's a choice. And you really think you've got the right answer?"

Chase shrugs. "Ruined everything. No one's gonna forgive me. Might as well save them the trouble."

"No," House says sharply. "You're running away. Again. For three years all you've done is run away. You made the decision to act on your morals, because you felt that saving the lives of a hundred thousand strangers was more important than your own sanity."

"It _was_!" Chase answers immediately, surprising himself with his own vehemence. Beneath all of his regrets, he has never doubted this.

"Fine," says House dismissively. "But ever since then, you've become so consumed with guilt that you're completely unable to see your own selfishness. Don't you get it? It doesn't _matter_ what you've done, what matters is how you act now. You're surrounded by people who care about you, but your head's so far up your own ass that you can't even see it. The murder you committed three years ago isn't hurting anyone but you. _You're_ the one making people miserable now."

The words seem to cut into Chase like the glass in his nightmares; he can only stare, paralyzed and breathless.

"Take two of those pills you're holding," says House.

Wordlessly, Chase swallows them, fighting against the nausea again. The bottle falls from his fingers, the rest of the pills scattering across the bathroom floor, and he doesn't try to retrieve them.

"Good," says House, sounding satisfied. "Now take this and save your sorry ass."

House is holding his phone, Chase realizes, and though some small part of his mind is fairly certain that this is a hallucination, he reaches out to take it anyway. To his surprise, his fingers close around solid plastic, Foreman's speed dial under his thumb. When he looks up again, House is gone. Shaking, Chase presses the button.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	52. Chapter 52

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

**NOTE: I am not sure whether there will be an update this Wednesday, because I am presenting work at a research conference. I will try my best, but there are a lot of things still up in the air. There will _definitely _be an update next Sunday, April 25th. My apologies for slightly less regular updates this month. The end of this semester is crazy!**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Two

Cameron goes straight back to her apartment after the case is finished, and climbs into bed, not even bothering to finish the paperwork she's brought home. That she's been so distracted at work gnaws guiltily at the back of her mind, but she finds that she is still unable to focus, even on that. She thinks if she were decent, she would call Chase, find out whether he is actually sick, and apologize for doubting him if it is true. As the day has worn on, she's become increasingly convinced that something is going on with him beyond a bad reaction to what she's told her parents. That it would aggravate his anxiety at first makes sense, but he has made no further attempt to contact her since leaving work, and she has a difficult time believing that he would be selfish enough to stay away this long out of simple upset.

Now the thought of confronting him, of another fight with someone she loves is overwhelming, and she tries to dismiss the possibility. She will deal with it in the morning, she promises herself, and turns out the light though it's scarcely past dinnertime. Cameron is exhausted enough to fall asleep immediately, despite the lingering emotions. In her dreams she sees her baby, growing up alone, surrounded by the ruins of her mother's failed relationships. The empty shell of the family Cameron has wanted for so long, shot through with cracks, crumbling because she is not enough to hold it all together, not even for her daughter's sake.

She wakes drenched in sweat, heart racing, the aftertaste of not-quite-tears lodged in the back of her throat. For a moment she's certain it's only her own subconscious that's awakened her, fleeing the dream's hold. But then another round of knocking on the front door makes her jump, stealing her breath away again. Her thoughts go immediately to Chase, but he has a key to her apartment, and probably wouldn't be inconsiderate enough to wake her up if he could help it. Inhaling slowly, Cameron gets to her feet and pulls on a bathrobe before going to answer the door. It's Foreman's face in the peephole, and she feels her heart speed up again as she turns the lock and then the knob.

"What is it?" Cameron asks, not giving him a chance to speak first. "You couldn't have called?"

"You need to get dressed and come with me right now," Foreman answers gravely. He doesn't make any move to explain further, but the urgency in his voice fills Cameron with a fresh wave of panic, as though her dreams have been given a fresh hold.

"What happened?" Cameron repeats, though she knows instantly that she will do what he's instructing without question. She has known Foreman long enough to recognize this as an emergency.

"You have Chase's spare key, right?" asks Foreman, still ignoring her question. "Bring it."

Cameron doesn't wait to question him further, that statement telling her enough in itself. Instead she hurries back into her bedroom and pulls on the first clean clothes she can find, barely even aware of what she's doing. A thousand possibilities of disaster run through her mind as she collects her purse and keys, double-checking for the spare to the condo, though she knows it's always with the rest now. The cold night air hits her like a blow to the cheek, and Cameron's thoughts are reeling by the time she gets to Foreman's car, the pieces beginning to fall into place.

Since agreeing to another try at their relationship, Cameron has taken it as a given that Chase would not dare drink again, that he already has too much invested in the baby, in the miraculous second chance he's been granted. She remembers also his nightmares when he'd thought he was dying, how utterly terrified he'd been. But now, she realizes, she's been blinded to the truth of his addiction, though she ought to have known better. There is no other emergency for which he would have called Foreman first, and the fact that Foreman is not answering her questions confirms that fear.

Suddenly it all seems to fit. She's taken Chase's distance over the past few weeks as compliance with the boundaries she'd belatedly tried to enforce, but in truth it's gone deeper than that. He has all but stopped talking to her except concerning completely superficial things; thinking back now, she can't remember the last time they've had a real conversation since the disaster on the day of her ultrasound. When they'd first started dating, he'd always wanted to spend nights together, had obviously enjoyed lying in bed with her, perhaps more than anything else. But lately he has been going home alone after work, or leaving early after having dinner with her. That should have been her first clue, she thinks, yet she's failed to see it, beyond her all-consuming preparations for the baby and the struggle to keep up her department running smoothly.

Cameron doesn't have time for any further thoughts before they are at the condo, though it feels too soon, as though the ride itself has been almost nonexistent. Foreman has IV supplies in his backseat, she realizes, as she watches him collect the items, and she wonders exactly how he's known what to bring.

"He called you?" Cameron asks, as they make their way up the stairs. She feels out of breath, dizzy with panic, as though the world is spinning too fast. Her body has felt unfamiliar and alien of late, changing so rapidly that it hardly seems her own. Now those feelings add to the sense of surreality as she scrambles for her key and unlocks the door.

"Yes," says Foreman simply, then goes ahead of her into the condo.

It's been weeks since she's been here, Cameron thinks as she steps into the living room, one more thing she's neglected to notice in her preoccupation with planning for the baby's arrival. The kitchen counter is lined with empty bottles, she notices, though she's been expecting that since seeing the look on Foreman's face. But Chase hasn't even tried to hide them, and that is slightly surprising. Thinking back again, Cameron wonders whether he's wanted her to notice, whether he's been silently trying to ask for her help.

"Cameron!" comes Foreman's voice from the bathroom, shattering her thoughts. She follows, coming to a halt in the doorway, speechless with shocked horror.

Chase is curled up on the tile floor in front of the toilet, still wearing the same rumpled clothes he'd had on at work. There's an empty pill bottle lying by his hand, his cheek resting next to a pool of vomit. Even from the doorway, she can see that his breathing is rapid and shallow, his skin flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat. Swallowing her shock, Cameron moves to kneel beside Foreman, who is already feeling for Chase's pulse. There is no anger as she lays her palm against his forehead and feels the heat of fever on his skin, only profound guilt and disappointment in herself for missing this. That he's hidden it from her makes sense; she has given him no reason to believe that anything other than utter ruin would follow that kind of admission. In a way it is her fault that he now has so much to lose.

"Pulse?" asks Cameron, trying to force herself to remember her training; emergency medicine is one of her strongest suits, but now she feels utterly helpless. Still, Foreman has come to her instead of calling an ambulance, and now it is their responsibility to save Chase's life.

"Fast but strong," says Foreman.

Movement under her hand draws her attention back downward in time to see Chase blinking at her in confusion. His eyes send another sharp tug of guilt through her, frantic with panic and pain. As soon as he recognizes her, he tries to pull away, but doesn't have the strength to move more than a few inches.

"Allison," Chase manages in a hoarse whisper, barely conscious but still seemingly lucid. "Oh, God, you can't be here."

"We're going to take care of you," Cameron answers, swallowing down her emotions again. This will shake the foundations of their relationship, of her trust, she knows already without a doubt, but those things will have to wait until his life is out of danger. She remembers instantly how much hell he went through in withdrawal the first time; this time will be worse, and already is, she knows without a doubt. That he is so sick within a matter of mere hours terrifies her. He will be lucky to come through it at all, after the stress his body's been through in the past year.

"We need to start an IV," says Foreman, interrupting.

Cameron nods, turning back to him. "Help me get him to the bed. It'll be easiest from that angle."

Cameron feels as though she is standing outside herself as she watches Foreman half-carry Chase into the bedroom. She takes the IV supplies from him and starts the line herself, needing to be doing something to actively are more empty bottles on the nightstand, she notices, as she watches Foreman hang the bag, but the anger still does not come. She does not see this as a betrayal of her trust so much as the monster of an illness that it is, threatening to overpower them both. She's known all along that he was vulnerable to the possibility of relapse, but she has never pictured it happening quite like this, with his life once again in immediate danger.

When Chase is momentarily settled, she hurries back to the bathroom to clean up, still feeling the need to be distracted. She is struck by an overwhelming sense of deja vu when she thinks back to the end of their marriage; she has blindly made the same mistake again, assuming that things were all right until outright disaster has claimed them. She ought to have known better, she thinks, to have seen the signs of him pulling away from her slowly, of his inability to ask for her help when he so desperately needs it. Bending, she retrieves the pill bottle, then freezes as the label comes into focus in her grasp.

Foreman is behind her when she turns around, watching as though he's known exactly what is coming.

"This is Valium," says Cameron slowly, still trying to turn the words over in her mind, find a way to speak them aloud. "And you're the prescribing doctor."

Foreman simply nods, silent.

"How long have you known about this?" Cameron straightens, for the first time feeling hot fury wash over her like a sudden fever. She feels light-headed with the intensity of it, the realization of Foreman's involvement nearly buckling her knees.

A moment passes before he answers. "A few weeks."

"Why wouldn't you tell me?" Cameron breathes, fighting for some semblance of control. The pill bottle falls from her fingers as her hand shakes violently, and she presses her knuckles to her lips.

"Because I knew you couldn't deal with it," Foreman answers, his eyes steely. There is no remorse in his voice, only condemnation. "Thought maybe I could convince him to get help eventually."

Cameron flinches, reeling further at his judgment. And yet he has a point, she thinks. She has proven herself repeatedly a failure when it comes to dealing with crises in her relationships. "That's—what you think of me?" she whispers, barely recognizing the sound of her own voice.

Foreman shrugs, looking more honest than she's seen him in a long time. "I tried to stay uninvolved after the Dibala case. And look what happened. You left, and Chase fell apart. I learned from that mistake. It's about time someone did."

Hot tears spill down Cameron's cheeks at those words, her anger dying abruptly as she realizes their truth. Had she found out about Chase's relapse weeks ago, had Foreman simply told her, she cannot say how she might have reacted. Even now, there is a part of her which is tempted to run again, to declare her own failure simply that and cut her losses before fate can decide them for her. But she knows now that will never be the answer; though she fears again that their relationship is unsalvageable, she will not be able to live with herself if she does not try.

"You have to accept responsibility too," says Foreman, though not accusingly. His voice is filled with a rare empathy she has seldom heard from him before. "What Chase did—that's a terrible thing to live with. But you didn't even try. It's easy to be committed to someone when things are going well. What you do when there's a crisis is what really tells you who you are."

Catching her lip between her teeth, Cameron nods, tasting the salt of tears. Since coming back, she's seen familiarity all around her, assumed everyone was more or less the same beneath the more obvious superficial changes. But Foreman _is _different, she realizes, shaped by his marriage, by his wife's slow slide towards death.

"Thank you," Cameron says softly, swallowing, then, "You should go home."

"Are you sure?" asks Foreman, looking concerned. "If you need help—"

But Cameron shakes her head, already certain. "We'll be okay. I know—what I need to do."

Chase has his eyes closed when she goes back into the bedroom, but his face is contorted into such a mask of misery that she knows he can't be asleep. Taking a breath to steady herself, Cameron bends and brushes her lips against his forehead before crawling into her side of the bed.

"What're you doing?" Chase asks hoarsely, looking at her in surprise. "Why're you still here?"

Resolved, Cameron takes his hand in both of hers, squeezing gently. "Because I love you. And we're going to get through this."

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Feedback makes my world go 'round!


	53. Chapter 53

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

**NOTE: Unfortunately I need one more week without a Wednesday update, since finals are about to take over my life. But then after that I'm essentially done with school for the summer, so I should be able to post the rest of this fic regularly. The next update will be Sunday, May 2nd. Hopefully this chapter will suffice until then. ^_~**

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Chapter Fifty-Three

The light begins as a pinprick at the end of a very long hallway. Chase is only vaguely aware of it at first, scarcely able to notice through the nausea and fever. It feels as though his body is poisoned from the inside and self-destructing in protest of his desperate, futile attempt to save himself at last.

But gradually the light grows, moving closer until he has no choice but to focus on it, on the white-hot searing pain it sends through his eyes as he blinks at it. It's coming from the end of a flashlight, he realizes slowly, feeling as though his thoughts are moving much too slowly, the world around him accelerated. He is in a hospital room, but he doesn't recognize the dark-skinned doctor leaning over him.

The room is empty, save for himself and the man who has now moved on to ripping out Chase's many IV lines. The shadows are too thick to see through, the tiny flashlight the only point of light in the room. He struggles to sit up, to stop this exam which now feels more like an attack, crimson pouring from the places on his arms where his veins have been torn open. He takes a breath to protest, but he's choking, a river of blood and bile in his throat. The doctor steps forward again, powerful hands pushing Chase back against the bed with painful force. He reaches out, frantically, grappling with the other man, but his strength is already failing him, stolen by the power of his addictions.

In the struggle, the doctor's surgical mask is knocked off, and suddenly Chase recognizes Dibala's face, half-rotten, the gaping jaw filled with a bloody mass of maggots. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes. Instead Chase finds himself helpless, paralyzed, watching in horror as the flashlight falls to the ground, spreading out to illuminate the entire room. There is blood spattered on the walls, and shattered glass covers the floor. In the doorway, a little girl appears, and Chase recognizes her instinctively as his child, the realization hitting him like a fresh blow to the gut. Slowly, she makes her way across the room, smiling blissfully as she wraps her arms around Dibala's leg, her face filled with obvious love.

And then Dibala is moving again, pulling a rusted scalpel from the pocket of his labcoat and plunging it into Chase's flesh, dragging the tarry remains of a ruined liver from his body. This time the scream does come, tearing itself from his throat until the entire room shatters, leaving him spent and blinking in the pre-dawn light of the condo's master bedroom, though the panic is still hot in his veins, his entire body shaking violently.

"Robert!" Cameron's voice intrudes, filled with fear of her own. She's leaning over him, he realizes, trying to press a cool washcloth to his forehead.

For a split second he feels relief, but the memory of the dream is there instantly, and it's all he can do to jerk away, shoving her hands off of him. She cannot be near him, he realizes; he is too damaged, everything about him poisoned by the things he's done. Suddenly the images of his subconscious seem prophetic, a warning that he cannot allow his daughter to be touched by the evil in his past.

"Babe, it's okay!" Cameron tries again, fumbling for his hand. "You're safe."

Her face is filled with tenderness beneath the anxiety, and that realization makes him sick. He leans dizzily over the side of the bed as the guilt turns his stomach, gagging again and again, but there is nothing left, not even bile. His thoughts race as he struggles to breathe, suddenly desperate for her to leave, to save herself, for the world to serve him the punishment he's deserved for so very long.

"Don't!" he chokes out at the familiar feeling of her hands on his shoulders. Today they feel like the lingering fingers of his dream; he can still sense Dibala looming over him, the terrible weight on his chest.

This time when he tears himself away, she seems to understand, falling back to her side of the bed, though she's still sitting up, poised to help again should he let her. "Okay," she says quietly, sounding defeated.

"You can't be here," Chase manages, when he can speak again. The back of his throat feels raw, the words stinging as they come out, like the venom that seems to be seeping from his pores. "You have to leave."

"I'm not going anywhere," says Cameron, her brow furrowed in confusion. She has one hand resting atop her belly, and Chase notices suddenly how much it has grown, prominent now even beneath the maternity top she's wearing. Somehow he's failed to notice, lost in the world of his nightmares the past few weeks. It seems yet another sign that he does not deserve to know his child, is only hurting the people closest to him.

"Don't say that," Chase snaps, her words echoing in his mind, digging themselves in like little barbs. They are the words she has spoken time and again, the words she'd said to him the same day she'd walked out of his life. Now, he is at once desperate to hear them, and terrified that this time they might actually be true. She cannot be allowed to stay, to damn herself and their daughter. Before, he had feared that she would leave when she'd discovered the true depth of ugliness at his core; now he fears that she never will see the truth, and it will destroy her silently.

"What?" Cameron frowns. "I'm not. I love you."

"Don't!" A sudden fresh rush of adrenaline propels him upwards at the sound of her words, despite the pain that shoots through him at the movement. Hot anger is beginning to overtake the panic, fury at the reality of his life, at the happiness which always seems just beyond his reach, excruciatingly unattainable.

"It's true!" Cameron insists, leaning toward him again. "I know I made a mistake! You have a right to be angry about that, but I've been trying to fix it!"

"Don't you get it?" A laugh bubbles up in his throat, a hideous sound against the background of unbearable tension. "You didn't make a mistake! The only thing you did wrong was coming back! Making me think that this might—" His voice breaks painfully, the emotions threatening to strangle him again. He remembers House's words in his hallucination, tauntingly similar to her argument now, but even that seems like a certain lie, the torment of a fevered mind.

"Don't you dare!" Cameron interrupts, suddenly flushed and breathing hard as well. Her eyes are alight with an anger he's seldom seen in her, and it's almost comforting, more fitting than her endless empathy. "Don't you _dare_ act like I've been manipulating you! I told you I wouldn't hurt you again, and I won't! What is it going to take for you to trust me?"

"I want you to recognize what—what I am." Chase swallows thickly, feeling sick again. This is the moment he has dreaded for so long, for more than three years. It feels as though all of the ghosts, the guilt, the walls he's built around himself are coming down at once, threatening to smother him. But there is no turning back now; he would rather be dead than living this lie. "What I did."

"You're a good person!" argues Cameron, but her voice is shaking; she seems afraid in a way he hasn't seen before. "You're a good person, but you've had bad things happen to you! It's perfectly understandable that you'd be having trouble—"

"Nothing _happened_ to me!" Chase explodes; his own voice sounds alien in his ears, loud and guttural, completely uncontrolled. "I did this! _Me_! Do you understand that, Allison?" Shaking, he reaches out, laying his palm against her jaw and turning her face toward his. Her muscles are taut beneath his fingers, and he thinks he can see fear in her eyes. In this moment, she is afraid of him, he realizes. "I made a decision. I stole the blood, and I faked the test. I _murdered_ him! I watched him die while pretending I was trying to save him. And _fuck_, I would—I would do it again in a heartbeat. Even knowing everything that came after!"

Cameron is quiet for a long time. But she doesn't pull away, doesn't even break his gaze, though he can see her eyes slowly filling with tears. "I know," she answers stubbornly at last, a hard edge to her voice that sounds like a challenge.

"I'm ruining your life," Chase says sadly, feeling his own throat growing tighter. That she is not angry now seems all the more final; he has made his point, and she will leave, he is certain. It's freeing to have these things in the open, yet he can't seem to stave off the grief.

"You're not," Cameron insists, her voice rising again. "And that's not your decision to make."

"How can you say that?" Chase bites his lip until he tastes blood, looking away from her at last to focus on the IV in the back of his hand. He's bumped it in the struggle of his dreams, and the tubing is tinged red. "Look at me."

"I know you need help," Cameron answers, and this time the sincerity in her voice is unmistakable. "I'll get you through this if you'd just stop fighting me!"

"You're pregnant!" He sees the dream again against the backs of his eyelids, haunting. "And you lied to your family for me!"

"You _are_ my family!" But she sounds strangely agitated now, and he knows he's struck a nerve, a fresh wave of panic beginning. "I told you I'd protect you! I meant it!"

"You shouldn't have to lie to them for me! I don't deserve it!" Chase pulls himself away from her again, wishing he had the strength to simply get out of the bed and leave, to take the steps she is still unwilling to.

"It wasn't a lie!" Cameron blurts, then breaks off, looking shocked, as though perhaps she has not yet admitted this even to herself.

"What?" Chase breathes, taken aback.

"It wasn't a lie." She clears her throat, tears spilling over onto her cheeks. Suddenly he remembers watching her pack in this room, how strangely stoic she had seemed then. "I told them—that I left because we were happy, and I got scared. That's—the truth."

"You said it was because I'd been poisoned by House," Chase presses, afraid to believe anything else. He's spent the past three years believing that he's ruined his own marriage, that there was no hope of reconciliation even if he'd tried, that he is utterly beyond hope. If that is not true, the foundations of his world will be shifted, everything thrown into turmoil again. "Because of what I'd done. That you couldn't—be with me."

But Cameron shakes her head, crying harder now, a vulnerability in her eyes he isn't sure he's ever seen before. "I thought—you'd changed. Turned into someone I couldn't love. But I was wrong. I'm sorry. I was just—so afraid of losing you that I let myself run away."

"I told you," says Chase softly, tears of his own blurring the edges of his vision, "the only way you were ever gonna lose me was if you decided you didn't want me anymore."

"I love you," Cameron whispers, an exquisite tenderness in her voice. "I _always_ loved you. I just—thought it couldn't work."

"And what makes you think it can now?" asks Chase, reeling.

Cameron sobs softly, taking a moment to find her voice. "Because—I need you. I'm so sorry it took me so long to figure that out."

Chase swipes a hand across his eyes, unable to answer, his breath coming ragged as the tears overtake him. There is nothing he can say to that. Not when she has seen him, truly seen everything that he has tried so long and so hard to keep hidden from her. Not when she is still here, still certain in these words. All he can do in this moment is watch her cry, the simple nakedness of her tears mirroring his own for the first time. He can no longer deceive himself into thinking that driving her out of his life is the best thing for her. Her eyes are elusive slips of green, reflecting the light of the rising sun.

"Robert," she says softly, after a long time has passed in silence. "Look at me." Sitting up slowly, she takes his hand and guides it to rest against her belly, beneath her shirt.

Chase holds his breath, aware of the purpose in her eyes, but unsure of what to expect. At first there is nothing but the warmth of her skin, the realization that it's been weeks since he last touched her like this. Then he feels it: a tiny, miraculous flutter of movement, shifting beneath his hand and simultaneously turning his life upside down. From the moment he made the decision that Dibala could not be allowed to live, his world has seemed to be spinning off its axis, utterly wrong, forever changed. Now, for the first time, feeling the strength of his daughter's kicking against his palm, it feels as though he might be capable of something other than darkness.

"Feel that?" breathes Cameron, studying his face.

Chase nods wordlessly.

"Your daughter loves you," says Cameron, everything about her filled with certainty. "She doesn't care what you've done in the past. You're her father, and she needs you too."

"Oh, God," whispers Chase, completely overwhelmed. It's all he can do to turn his face into her shoulder and give in to a fresh wave of tears, crying out of joy, hope for the future. He keeps his hand against her belly as Cameron wraps her arms around him, shifting to rest his head against her chest, the sound of her heartbeat strong and comforting in his ear.

Taking a breath, he allows the final wall around his heart to come down, laying himself bare before her. The guilt is still present, the remnants of his nightmares, yet somehow seems less insurmountable, not quite so all-encompassing. For the first time, he allows himself to remember the full depth of his love for her, to feel the immense relief at the knowledge that she is truly in his life again. As Cameron curls her fingers into his hair and her scent envelopes him, Chase realizes that the fear of losing her, at last, has gone.

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Feedback is very much appreciated!


	54. Chapter 54

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

**NOTES: There are about 15 chapters left in this fic, according to my current outline. Of course, that could always change, but that's where things stand right now. :)**

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Chapter Fifty-Four

Chase isn't sure how much time has passed when he's woken by the growl of thunder, and the soft sounds of the wind just beginning to kick up as it announces a coming storm. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he sees that morning has passed into afternoon, and Cameron has fallen asleep, curled up on her side. He cannot remember any dreams from the last stretch of time, he realizes, at once a relief and oddly disorienting.

The IV in the back of his hand stings as he sits up, reminding him of the morning's ordeal. There's blood in the tubing still, and a little caked around the outside of the catheter. Glancing up at the bag, and then over at Cameron, he decides he doesn't need or want to wake her. The nausea has faded to a hollow ache in the pit of his stomach; his entire body feels spent and sore, but no longer on fire with agony. Taking a slow breath, Chase peels back the tape holding the IV in place and slips the catheter out of his skin, then reaches up and takes the bag down from its pole so that it won't leak on the bed. There's sweat drying on his skin and the damp sheets, and he shivers in the slight breeze from the airconditioning.

Outside, the clouds open up, unleashing a torrent of rain onto the ground, the last warmth of summer fading into dampness. Chase glances over at Cameron again, but she is not stirred by the pattering of it on the roof, and the slow, even rhythm of her breathing is comforting. He feels raw still, both spiritually and physically, the morning's tide of emotions having swept away his armor. Everything seems tender now, like the new skin under a scab that's just come off. Yet it isn't a bad feeling, he thinks, as he gets experimentally to his feet. His head swims for a moment, but then the room rights itself. Going to the window, he opens it a crack, inhaling the earthy scent of drenched soil and grass. Suddenly he feels filthy, unable to stand not being clean.

In the bathroom doorway, he's halted by a wave of dread, remembering what it felt like to lie dying on this tile floor, certain that any cry for help would be met with scorn. But Cameron and Foreman have not abandoned him, he reminds himself, have saved his life despite his repeated offenses. He is not sure how many days have passed in miserable delirium since they found him here. And then he remembers also the words of House's ghost—his own subconscious, somehow, though it feels utterly alien. He has hurt them inexcusably, through his futile attempts at self destruction, the delusion that the act of removing himself from their lives could ever be selfless. And yet, he cannot afford to let himself be consumed with guilt over this either.

For the first time in three years, he feels capable of progress.

Once he's convinced himself to cross the threshold into the bathroom, it becomes easier to focus on the mundanities of routine, and keep the ghosts at bay. Chase studies himself in the mirror as he brushes his teeth, feeling as though he ought to be able to see some tangible sign of change in his reflection. Failing that, he replaces his toothbrush in its holder, and instead tries to picture himself holding their newborn baby, raising their daughter. He spends a long time in the shower, thinking of the rain outside and all the things he might now be ready to leave behind, as if it's possible to simply wash his addictions down the drain. When he steps out at last, Cameron is leaning against the doorframe holding a towel out to him, a look of curiosity on her face.

"Hey," says Chase, taking the towel from her and wrapping it around himself.

"I didn't expect you to be up," says Cameron. "Came to see if you were okay."

"I'm fine," Chase answers, though the exhaustion slipping into his muscles is beginning to become overwhelming. He's lost track of how long he's been out of bed, and it's a shock after so much inactivity. Quickly, he pulls on the clean clothes he's brought into the bathroom, noticing that his hands are shaking again, though not nearly as badly as before.

"You look much better." Cameron smiles, stepping forward to wrap her arms around his waist.

Chase nods, leaning into her slightly, acutely aware of the swell of her belly between them now. He realizes again how much her body has changed in the past few weeks alone, how great the distance between them has grown while he's been lost in the haze of alcohol.

"How long have I been detoxing?" he asks quietly, remembering again the feeling of being helpless on this bathroom floor, certain that no one would come.

"Almost five days." Cameron reaches up and lays her palm against his cheek, stroking very lightly with her thumb. "Can I help you back to bed?"

Nodding, Chase lets her wrap an arm around his waist. She has changed the sheets on the bed, he notices, and the simplicity of the gesture tightens his throat. He has always prided himself on independence, cannot remember having anyone take care of him this way even as a child. Instead, he has made his life on being able to survive alone, on caring for others as if that somehow might fill the void. That Cameron is so willing to do these things for him at all, much less after everything that's happened, is nearly overwhelming.

"Do you think you could try to eat something?" she asks gently, disassembling the IV pole without comment, as if this might be the most natural situation in the world to her. She has always been good at that, making profound empathy seem somehow effortless. "Soup? Or toast?"

"Toast would be good," he agrees hesitantly. Accepting her help is still difficult; he has to remind himself not to be ashamed.

Climbing back into the bed, he inhales the scent of fabric softener, remembering now the warmth and happiness of their marriage. He has not allowed himself to think about these things in years; even after asking her for a new beginning, he has tried to keep himself safe from the possibility of disappointment. Even while pushing for progress, he has clung to the numbness, the distance, allowed himself to reinvest only partially. And that is why they have come so close to failure again, he thinks. Now, in the wake of disaster which she has not fled, the prospect of giving himself wholly to their relationship seems perhaps not simple, but absolutely necessary. With this knowledge, the fear and ambivalence fade; he feels as though he can truly breathe again for the first time since she left.

The storm has become more violent outside, and by the time Cameron comes back with a plate of dry toast for him and two mugs of tea, Chase is enthralled in watching one of the trees in the courtyard below, its branches buffeted back and forth in the wind.

"You look far away," says Cameron, keeping one of the mugs for herself and handing him the rest.

"I was just thinking." He takes an experimental sip of the tea, smiling a little at the surprising sweetness of it on his tongue, and the fact that it doesn't turn his stomach.

"About?" Cameron prompts. She settles on her side of the bed again, and Chase notices how she has the pillows arranged behind her back, how even her posture is beginning to change. She has adapted silently, seamlessly, and he is reminded again of profoundness of these things she has done for him, when no one would be able to blame her for simply focusing on herself and the baby.

"I used to love storms like this, when I was a kid." He turns to look at her, feeling as though he is truly seeing her for the first time in weeks. "Somehow it makes everything inside seem more peaceful."

Carefully, Cameron leans over and kisses his cheek in answer.

"I can't believe you're still here," Chase says quietly, taking a long time to swallow a bite of the toast. "After—everything."

"I told you I'm not leaving again," says Cameron, the tension which has crept into her voice betraying her sense of calm. "Please trust me."

"That's not what I meant," Chase says quickly. They cannot afford for this to turn into a fight, and that's the furthest thing from his intentions besides. "Just—I _know_ how frustrating it is." He remembers vividly his own mother's repeated attempts to become sober, how futile the hope had begun to seem after so many relapses. And he had never had as much at stake as Cameron does now, as much of an ability to simply walk away and have something left over. "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine the hell I've put you through."

Cameron looks at him, then sighs, setting her mug on the nightstand. "I'm sorry too. I should have realized sooner. I think I was just—I wanted so _badly_ to believe that we were happy again. I let myself be blinded to what was really going on."

"I didn't exactly make it easy." Finishing one piece of toast, Chase sets the plate and mug on the floor next to the bed, wanting to be closer to her. "It almost felt inevitable, in a way. Ever since we decided to try again, I've been so scared that I would slip, and you'd leave. When it happened, it was—almost a relief, because at least then I wasn't waiting for it anymore. But I couldn't tell you, because I didn't want to lose everything, even then."

Cameron takes his hand in both of hers, still warm from holding the mug of tea. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise. Even if you slip again. I need you in my life. I—want to spend my life with you, whatever it takes. And I want you in our daughter's life, too."

Chase inhales slowly, squeezing her hand and swallowing tears. He lets the words repeat in his mind, feels the weight of them as they sink in truly for the first time. It is a huge risk, letting himself believe her, but one he is finally unquestionably ready to take.

"You were asleep," Chase says after a moment, remembering. It's the middle of the afternoon, and only now is he truly able to admit to himself the amount of undue stress he must have caused her over the past few days, perhaps even weeks. "Are you okay?"

But Cameron only smiles, seeming to appreciate the concern. "I'm fine. Just haven't gotten much sleep lately. Your daughter's a night owl. And a future dancer, apparently. Or maybe a soccer player."

"She's keeping you awake with her kicking?" asks Chase, feeling again the sense of awe of this baby at last making her presence known in the world. Until now, she has been scarcely more than a dream to him, a visible but silent presence in his life.

Cameron nods, her smile broadening. "I think she's impatient. Wants to come out and join us already."

Unable to hide his own grin at that, Chase shifts in the bed, suddenly focused on how her shirt has ridden up, exposing the curve of her growing belly. Slowly, almost reverently, he reaches out to brush his hand over it again, feeling for a second time the tiny flutters beneath the warmth of her skin. Bending, he presses his lips to the place where he can feel the movement, lingering for a long time. When he looks up at Cameron again, she's blinking back tears, an intensity in her eyes he isn't sure he's seen before.

"I love you," breathes Chase, not taking his hand from her belly. "Both of you." It's been more than three years since he's spoken the words aloud to her; a month ago, he'd been ashamedly unready to answer her confessions. But now they slip from his lips almost without a thought, the only thing that feels real or true in this moment.

"Oh, god," Cameron whispers, starting to cry in earnest.

Wordlessly, Chase moves back up the bed, wrapping his arms around her. "I love you," he says again, against her ear this time. "I love you so much."

Fisting her hands in the back of his shirt, Cameron sobs, and he understands instantly that these are tears of joy, of the shared relief he feels at being truly able to love her again. He has been to hell and back again, but this time not alone. Now, as the rain comes down outside, the fragile remains of his faith are beginning to grow again, in a future that might be filled with happiness, and the hope that it still might not be too late to save himself.

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Reviews are always appreciated!


	55. Chapter 55

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

**NOTES: So sorry this is a day late. I got delayed moving out of my dorm yesterday, which meant I was unable to post until now. Also, on an unrelated note, there's a poll about future projects on my profile. Please vote! Finally, since I've had quite a few people ask me lately, I wanted to clarify that it's now November in fic!time, and Cameron is almost seven months pregnant. **

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Chapter Fifty-Five

On Tuesday morning, Cameron wakes to the sound of yet more rain. It's been storming on and off for the past four days, the clammy fingers of winter finally taking hold over the last late-autumn warm spell. It isn't quite time for her alarm to go off, she realizes, as her eyes adjust to the light of the clock on her nightstand. Sometime over the course of the past week and a half, she has begun to think of this room as wholly her own again, though technically these things still belong to Chase. He is curled up silently behind her, one hand resting against her belly, nose buried in her hair. But his breathing is just a little too irregular, the tension in his body betraying the fact that he isn't asleep, and Cameron wonders whether he's had another nightmare.

"Hey," she says quietly, turning over her shoulder, though it's still too dark to see his face, the beginnings of the sunrise outside dulled by clouds.

Chase exhales heavily, sagging against the bed as though relieved not to need to avoid disturbing her anymore. "Hey. Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Cameron answers quickly, though she isn't honestly sure what's awakened her. "I would've had to get up soon anyway." She hasn't slept well in weeks, between the baby's new nocturnal acrobatics, and worry over Chase's health. Still, she's grateful for the progress they've made in the past few days, for every kick which reminds her the baby is strong and active. For all the pain of the last month, she thinks that she would not trade these things for any alternative.

Taking another breath, Chase leans over and turns on the light next to his side of the bed. He still looks pale and shaky, she notices, though better by the day. He will have to have his liver function retested soon, though they haven't discussed it yet. Remembering how long it took for his tests to improve the first time, Cameron thinks that perhaps it would be best to wait, and he has not mentioned wanting to know sooner.

"How are you?" she asks, when he remains quiet.

Chase shrugs, then sighs again, shaking his head a little. "Really want a drink." He looks away quickly, obviously ashamed, though Cameron thinks he's done remarkably well this time. He has not begged her for anything, has not tried to persuade her to give him alcohol, even in the agony of withdrawal when she'd expected it. Instead, he seems resigned to the necessity of this, to the suffering he will have to endure.

"It's okay," Cameron answers softly, rolling over to kiss him.

Chase responds slowly, tentatively at first, as though he's still just the slightest bit uncertain. But he does relax, after a moment, shifting so that the length of his body is pressed against hers as he deepens the kiss. She has seen a profound change in him the past few days; all along she has held out hope that he might be able to heal, might still be able to trust unquestioningly in their relationship the way he did when they were first married. Has wanted to believe it so badly that she has nearly cost them everything. But now, in the wake of disaster, she feels as though she can see again in him the gentle, earnest love which succeeded finally in breaking down her walls five years ago. She has missed this part of him terribly, she realizes, though she hasn't admitted that even to herself until now. It would have been too painful to realize this might be lost for good.

Chase makes a soft noise against her lips, his entire body sinking against the bed as he relaxes fully. Shifting closer, he slips his hand beneath the hem of her pajama top, and Cameron breathes faster, closing her eyes as he skims his fingers over the curve of her belly. She does not feel self-conscious about her appearance now, does not question the way her body is changing. Chase has been watching her through eyes reflecting wonder lately, the same sense of quiet awe she feels at every kick, every tiny reminder of their daughter's presence. But now there is something else in his eyes as well, raw hunger, need which has nothing to do with addiction.

Cameron has found herself at the mercy of her hormones lately, every emotion she might ordinarily be able to control intensified tenfold. This morning is no exception, a wave of heat sweeping over her at the look in his eyes. Lunging for his lips, she kisses him again, a little frantically. Groaning into her mouth, Chase pushes her pajama top up further, ghosting his thumb along the underside of her breast. Instinctively, Cameron arches into his hand, only to be jarred out of the moment by the percussive chiming of her alarm clock signaling time to get ready for work. Chase makes a noise of frustration and falls back against the pillows on his side of the bed, leaving her reeling and lightheaded with desire.

"Damn," Cameron mutters, hitting the alarm's silencer with more fervor than really necessary.

"Snooze?" asks Chase, looking hopeful. He seems more at ease already than when she'd first woken up, though the shadows under his eyes betray the fact that his body is still struggling to heal.

"Can't," she answers grudgingly. "I already set it as late as possible." It is her first day back at work since finding him detoxing; Cuddy has been accommodating, but also firm in her requirements of the department. For Cameron to be late or absent this morning would be unacceptable, especially in light of the generosity they've already been shown.

"I'm coming with you, then," says Chase, surprising her. "I mean, if—I still have a job."

They have not yet discussed this either; Cameron has been inclined to simply offer him as much support as possible during his recovery, saving the more stressful details until he's strong enough to handle them without a setback. And he hasn't asked thus far, seeming to simply be enjoying the progress they've made in their relationship.

"You do," Cameron answers carefully. There is no reason for him to know the details of her conversation with Cuddy, or her unrealized fears that this would be the last straw in the ruin of his career. But this time being straightforward has paid off, with help from Wilson's mediation. "Cuddy wants to talk to you before you start back, though."

Chase nods slowly, exhaling in a way that reminds her of his reaction upon waking from one of his nightmares. He has been living in fear of this knowledge, she realizes, at least on some level. And while she doesn't regret her decision not to push the conversation before he's brought it up, the relief in his face is deeply comforting.

"I want to go back today," he says after a moment, quietly. "Don't want to be here alone. And the distraction might—help."

Sitting up slowly, Cameron kisses his cheek again, completely understanding the meaning behind what he's just told her. That he would want a distraction now makes perfect sense; he has always coped by throwing himself into his work, focusing on the lives of patients rather than his own. And she would rather not leave him without support besides.

"Are you sure you couldn't have hit snooze once?" asks Chase, seeming somehow lighter at the prospect of going to work.

"Yes," says Cameron, mentally begrudging him the reminder of exactly where they'd left off before her alarm had intruded. Then, hesitating, she turns back toward the bed. "But I guess we could be efficient. Come shower with me."

–

Walking into Cuddy's office, Cameron feels a moment's apprehension. Her relationship with Cuddy has been uncertain at best since she's been back in Princeton, even moreso because of her pregnancy. She knows that Wilson and Cuddy talk, knows that he has been putting pressure on her to be supportive as she always was of House. And while Cameron is appreciative of these things, the fact that so much discussion of her relationship and Chase's future is taking place outside her presence unnerves her. She is never quite certain what to expect when speaking with either of them.

Chase has been unusually quiet on the ride here, obviously nervous, though less so than the first time he'd returned to work several months ago. Everything about him seems just a little more confident, a little stronger now than when she'd watched him struggle through detox before. The fear which had seemed to immediately accompany every one of his hopes then is much diminished now. Cameron cannot help feeling protective of him in this meeting, though she knows that Cuddy has every right to be angry about what's happened, to punish either of them if she chooses.

"Dr. Cameron," says Cuddy, looking up from her computer screen as they enter the office. "Dr. Chase, I wasn't expecting to see you back here so soon."

"I know." Chase swallows, looking at his hands for a moment, then slipping them into his pockets. "I wasn't sure you'd want to see me back here at all."

"I'll be honest," says Cuddy bluntly. "I was going to fire you when I heard what happened. But Cameron was honest with me, and Wilson pointed out how hypocritical it would be to give you fewer chances than I gave House. The truth is, I would rather be told that you're not fit to work than have someone get hurt because you tried to be here when you shouldn't have been. That was a step in the right direction."

"I understand," says Chase contritely. "And I'm sorry. I should've asked for help sooner. Not let it get that far."

"Yes," says Cuddy firmly. "You should have. Take that as a lesson for the future."

Chase simply nods this time, remaining silent. Watching them, Cameron feels as though this entire exchange is surreal, might as well be in a dream. She'd hoped for it never to have come to this again, of course, but this moment in itself feels like yet another concrete sign of the enormous progress they've made. She finds that she trusts Chase entirely now to handle himself appropriately, though it was a mere four months ago that she'd feared his every response in front of Cuddy.

"I want you to have a full physical and bloodwork by the end of this week," Cuddy continues, moving this meeting swiftly forward. This is strictly business; the decisions have already been made. "Your reputation has been a great asset to the department's success these past few months. Diagnostics has been operating at its highest efficiency ever. I need to know that you'll be fit to continue." She punctuates this last with the hint of a smile, the tension in her face shifting into something like thinly-veiled pride.

"Not a problem," says Chase, smiling too, though there's anxiety in his eyes again which makes Cameron remember her own fear at finding out exactly how bad the damage to his liver might be this time.

Cuddy nods, once. "That's all, Dr. Chase. Go get to work. I need to speak to Dr. Cameron alone for a moment."

"Thank you," says Chase, giving Cameron a questioning look before leaving. She's certain already that he'll be waiting for her in the lobby, just to make sure that everything is all right before going up to the Diagnostics office.

"What is it?" asks Cameron, curious.

"How are you doing?" Cuddy obviously means the pregnancy, but there's something else too, judging by the subtle tension in her voice. This is not simple small talk.

"Everything's fine," says Cameron, knowing that they will get to the real purpose of this conversation soon enough. "I have my next appointment tomorrow. But she seems to be doing great. Really active. I think she gets jealous when I want to sleep instead of paying attention to her."

"Lots of kicking?" asks Cuddy, smiling faintly again.

"Yes," Cameron answers. That is something Cuddy has never experienced, she realizes, and suddenly feels strange talking about it. She has heard through the hospital grapevine about Cuddy's struggle to get pregnant, and then to adopt, but they have never discussed it. "Was there something else?"

Cuddy sighs, turning serious again. "I need you to keep an eye on Foreman."

"Did something happen?" Cameron remembers immediately how on-edge he's seemed lately, the things he'd said to her on the day they'd found Chase in the condo's bathroom. She'd assumed then that the progression of Thirteen's illness was changing him, but now she wonders whether she's missed something beyond that.

"Dr. Hadley has an inoperable brain tumor," says Cuddy gravely. "She has opted against treatment. Based on the progression so far, Wilson thinks she has about three months to live."

"I'm—sorry to hear that," Cameron answers, feeling the news settle like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. She and Thirteen have never been close, but Foreman has been a true friend to her, especially of late, and the knowledge of the loss he is about to experience pains her deeply, the ghosts of her own past stirring in sympathy.

"He didn't want anyone to know," says Cuddy, indicating that this news will have to be treated with utmost care. "But as department head, you needed to be informed."

Cameron nods, knowing what this means. It will be her job to make sure no one else gets hurt if Foreman is distracted. It's a terrible responsibility to have, and one that's far too familiar. "I understand."

"That's all," says Cuddy. She looks much older now, somehow, as though a decade has passed since Cameron left. They have all experienced far too much loss of late.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	56. Chapter 56

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

**NOTES: If you haven't already done so, please vote in the poll on my profile! (Come on, guys, this fic gets well over 500 hits per chapter. I know there are more than 13 of you who'd be interested in voting. I promise I don't bite!)**

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Six

Thanksgiving comes and goes, and with it the first snow of the season. It floats down in thick feathery flakes to gather in drifts at the base of the condo's steps, coating the world outside their windows so that it looks fresh and clean for a few days. Chase goes in for his physical and waits, again, in fear of the bloodwork results. But this time it is not so bad: his liver function is diminished, but not as severely as before, not in a way that will be life-threatening so long as he manages to prevent any further damage. Another second chance, and this time it doesn't feel so much like a mistake.

The beginning of December comes, and with it Christmas decorations appear all over the city, carols on the radio. Chase finds himself caught in moments of nostalgia more often, beginning to be unafraid of remembering the good times. There's something about the holidays, the snow, that has always made him feel wistfully lonely, watching other happy families celebrate a painful reminder of all the things he has never had. The two Christmases he'd spent with Cameron had been the happiest of his life, the ones after the divorce that much more trying for the contrast. But now he's begun to feel a cautious anticipation of the upcoming holidays, of the family he is about to have, and the future memories they'll make. As the days pass, time flows into a comfortable routine. He begins to immerse himself in work again, is learning to turn the stifling guilt into ambition.

"We've got a referral from the ER," says Cameron, as he walks into work on Monday morning. They have spent a rare night apart. He and Cameron have not discussed living arrangements again since their disastrous fight early on in this relationship, but the half of his closet and dresser which have lain empty since the day she walked out of his life are now beginning to fill once again with her things. Small and silent progress.

"Another one?" asks Chase, secretly glad that they have been busier than usual. It's when there is downtime now that his ghosts haunt him again, make him question his ability to live the life he's always wanted without everything being poisoned by his past. As long as he stays busy, there is no time for those thoughts, and he feels as though he is taking action to avoid that outcome besides. Cameron is already entirely focused as she presses the elevator button, the file held tight in her other hand. He recognizes the drive in her eyes, the same look which had surprised him in its intensity when they'd first met and begun working together.

"It's almost the holidays," she says, stepping onto the elevator. "Case load always goes up around Christmas. More stress. More people being stupid and getting sick."

"You love it," Chase teases, though if he's honest at the moment he is relieved by it as well.

"I would never wish that on anyone," Cameron replies, but he can tell that her indignation is all part of an act.

"You love being able to help," Chase clarifies. "Being needed."

"I do when it's a part of my job," says Cameron pointedly, sobering as they step out into the hallway. They have all had too many reminders recently of just how different it is when professional boundaries are broken down, when the emergency is in their own family.

Foreman is already in the office when they arrive, an impressive stack of journals spread across the table in front of him, though he doesn't appear to be reading any. He's been spending more and more time at work lately, though Chase has avoided asking him about Thirteen's health since that day he brought her file to the office. Nor has he discussed it with Cameron. He isn't sure whether these things constitute cowardice or generosity, and thinks that probably in reality it is some mixture of both. Foreman has always been incredibly private, especially about upsetting things. Still, Chase feels as though he ought to be finding a way to offer more support. In truth, he's still not certain that he's strong enough to do more good than harm, reluctant to trust himself in the wake of everything that's happened.

"Marie Donovan," says Cameron, shrugging into her lab coat and tossing a marker to Chase before taking a seat at the table, file spread neatly in front of her. "Twenty-six year old female. Five months pregnant."

"Seriously?" asks Chase, feeling his heart skip a beat. He's slightly shocked that Cameron hasn't mentioned the patient's pregnancy to him already, that she seems unfazed by it so far. She has never been one to let her personal feelings interfere with patient care, yet he knows how difficult it must be for her to treat this like any other case.

"Yes," Cameron answers firmly.

"And—you think that you can handle it?" asks Foreman, speaking for the first time. Chase wonders suddenly whether his scrutiny of Cameron over the past few months has been a diversion, questioning her authority and professionalism to somehow preserve his own. It's a defense he's used himself in the past, letting House's problems overshadow his shortcomings.

"I'm handling it," says Cameron brusquely. "And I'd be handling it even better if you two would let me read the symptoms so we could actually get to work helping this woman."

"Go ahead," says Chase, flipping the marker into the air and catching it neatly. "I'm ready to write." There's tension in the room this morning beyond the usual adrenaline of a fresh case, a new puzzle to be solved. He can't say whether it's Foreman's distraction, or an unspoken apprehension of Cameron's, but it prickles along the back of his neck like the first change in the wind before a coming electrical storm.

"Marie experienced extreme nausea almost from the moment she became pregnant," says Cameron, glancing down at the file as she speaks.

Immediately Chase begins mentally listing off possible illnesses and related conditions, even as he is aware that this is only a single symptom, even as he watches himself write it on the board as if his arm might be somehow disembodied.

"The nausea was her first symptom of pregnancy, and began before she missed her period," Cameron continues. "It was so extreme that she reached a point where she couldn't bear the thought of eating anything, and couldn't keep food down at all. She lost twenty pounds and was put on an intravenous feeding tube."

"Eating disorder?" Foreman breaks in. "That's a lot of weight to lose while pregnant."

"But the symptom was nausea, not fasting or purging," Chase counters smoothly, continuing to write on the board.

It is in these moments that he feels the most in his element, completely comfortable despite the ominous shifting of emotions around him. Over the past three years, he's clung to this job as the last shred of his sanity, the only facet in which he still had purpose when everything else came crumbling down. He's managed to hold on through the worst of his fear and grief, through the time when his judgment had been so clouded by drugs and alcohol that he'd had to work overtime to ensure nothing was missed. It had seemed like penance then, the only type available to him. But now he is beginning to see it as something else, something separate. A way to matter, to do good in the world despite the crimes in his past. And yet that too is an enormous weight on his shoulders; now that he has realized the potential, he feels driven to push himself further and faster, to stay late at work, do more hours in the clinic. A desperate hunger for meaning awakened by the possibility of direction. Once, he'd felt overwhelmed with the need to punish himself. Now, instead, he feels compelled to do enough good to outweigh the evil in his soul.

"Not an eating disorder," says Cameron, bringing his racing thoughts back into focus. "Severe pregnancy-associated nausea. She gained the weight back on the intravenous feeding tube, and then some. Her OB-GYN's notes say she was relieved. But the nausea didn't improve in the second trimester."

"GI problem?" asks Chase, though that's likely far too obvious for the case even to have made it to their department.

"Wow, that really narrows it down," Foreman snipes sarcastically.

"Other symptoms?" Chase asks Cameron, ignoring Foreman.

"Yes." Cameron turns over a page in the file, revealing another full set of notes, scrawled in messy writing. Chase cranes his neck, but can't make out any of the words from his distance. "Marie developed a cough about a month ago. She had no fever when she first went to see her OB about it, but he suspected a virus anyway."

"Influenza A," says Chase. "It's the right season for it. Fits with respiratory illness. Could be an atypical presentation without fever."

"Swine flu," says Foreman, distractedly. "Weaker strain."

"Patient tested negative for influenza viruses," Cameron interrupts. "Twice."

"Can't rule it out," says Chase. "Test for influenza is notorious for false negatives. Unreliable."

"We'll redo the test," says Cameron. "Her OB tried a number of broad spectrum antibiotics, none of which worked. She developed an intermittent fever after that appointment. This morning it was nearly 102, which was what led to her coming in and the ER referring the case to us."

"We'll need to get x-rays," says Foreman. "Symptoms like that, sounds like it could be pneumonia."

"And are you forgetting that she's pregnant?" asks Cameron sharply, sounding clearly emotional for the first time this morning. Chase turns to watch her in this exchange, concerned. "And only five months. We can't expose the baby to radiation. That's why no one else has done those tests yet either."

"Well, then that's probably why she's still sick," Foreman argues. "It'll be a lot more harmful to the baby if we don't succeed in diagnosing her, or if she stays sick longer because we were too cautious to do the necessary tests."

"We should try to rule out more first," Cameron insists. "Only do the x-ray if we absolutely need to."

"We _do_ absolutely need to," says Foreman. "We need to do it _now_. Those symptoms could mean any number of life-threatening conditions for both Marie and the baby. A chest xray should be our first diagnostic tool."

"He's right," adds Chase reluctantly. "If she's not responding to the antibiotics and it is an infection, that means likely either viral or fungal. We can't treat for both without risking organ damage, not to mention the dangers of exposing the baby to those kinds of drugs. And we'll have to rule out everything else as well. Endocarditis. Pulmonary embolism. All higher risk in a woman who's pregnant. I know that you know this, Allison."

"We should talk to the patient first," Cameron answers weakly, an edge of panic in her voice now. "Maybe try to run cultures. This could still turn out to be something simple. If we act impulsively, we could do more harm than good. The ER sent her to us because they trusted that we would be able to balance the baby's health with the mother's treatment."

Chase understands exactly how she is feeling: any case is all routine, all in her control until they are forced to make a gamble like this one, two lives against a possible truth. And both entirely too close to home. Still, inaction at this point is every bit as dangerous.

"Cultures will take a long time," says Chase, as gently as possible. Every instinct is clamoring to simply be supportive of Cameron, to try to quell her fears. Yet he knows that would be a mistake. He has too much experience with the cunning grasp of anxiety, the way thoughts twist and turn until the truth is obscured. To enable such a miscalculation would be devastating. And it is his responsibility to convince her, he realizes. Foreman is sitting in silence, and Chase knows the words will be more powerful coming from his own mouth besides. Again he thinks of the newfound sense of purpose in his work, and his place as the father of Cameron's child.

She is sitting silently as well, watching him with an air of resignation that has nothing to do with her professional authority. She knows the correct answer, Chase thinks, and that is what frightens her about this decision. What she's waiting for is permission to take that leap.

"If we were the first doctors she'd seen, the x-ray would be rash," says Chase. "But we're not. She's had these symptoms for weeks, and they didn't improve on antibiotics. We don't have time to wait around and hope that we'll stumble onto the right diagnosis before it does irreversible damage to Marie's health, not to mention her baby's. We have to do it now."

"All right," Cameron answers quietly, at last. "You and Foreman do it. Do everything you can to minimize the baby's exposure to the radiation. I'm going to go check out the home."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated! Also, Happy Mother's Day to anyone celebrating!


	57. Chapter 57

SUMMARY: Two and a half years after her divorce, Cameron returns to a changed PPTH following an emergency call from Cuddy. AU future fic.

NOTE: I'll say it one more time -- If you haven't voted in my poll, please do so! I'm going to be closing it when I post my next update on Sunday. :)

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chase makes no comment about Cameron going to the patient's home, knows by now that she will take appropriate precautions. To question her prudence now would be an insult, and the last thing he wants is to upset her further when the differential has clearly set her on edge already. Instead, he carefully caps the marker and places it on the whiteboard's ledge, then leads the way out into the hall. Foreman follows a moment later, still seeming preoccupied, but not offering further comment about it.

Marie Donovan looks young to be a mother, barely college-age, and Chase wonders whether this was a planned pregnancy. She has had no visitors so far; no one accompanied her to the ER this morning. He tells himself not to judge, that thinking badly of her for the way she is handling her life would be hypocritical in the extreme. After all, he and Cameron were not planning for their own baby, were scarcely on speaking terms when she was conceived. Still, it seems somehow different; he has wanted a family for as long as he can remember, and he knows that Cameron has harbored similar wishes, though she seldom voices them aloud. Lately, he finds himself feeling more protective of all children, wishing that all parents could be somehow compelled to do a good job.

After her age, the next thing that strikes him about this patient is her skin. It isn't cyanotic, not a clear diagnostic sign in itself, but still strangely grayish somehow. The texture of it looks dull, aged, as if it is the skin of a much older woman. Despite the intravenous feeding tube, she looks sickly thin, her arms bony and her elbows protruding. Her belly is barely noticeable, though she's well into her second trimester, should be showing prominently by now. She has none of the usual glow of pregnancy, looks more like the starved child of a third-world country, bloated with malnutrition. Her baby might as well be a parasite under these circumstances, Chase thinks, remembering what House always used to say. Stealing the life away from her, impeding their ability to save her life. And yet in the same breath, he resents himself that thought, feels somehow a traitor for the mere fact that it's occurred to him.

Marie consents to the x-ray in silence, though they've made the risks more than clear. Chase has made certain of that. She seems resigned somehow, as though the months of nausea and sickness have worn her down, made her strangely fatalistic. She doesn't speak as they wheel her to radiology, either, and by the time he and Foreman have retreated behind the glass barrier to watch the technician work, Chase feels nearly overwhelmed with tension.

"You were early today," he says to Foreman, remembering walking in this morning. He thinks that perhaps he ought not to push, but the gnawing voice at the back of his mind says he ought to make an effort to be a better friend. Foreman has at least attempted to reach out to him, by bringing the file to work weeks ago, by allowing him to see it. True, he has not mentioned Thirteen's health again, but from someone so outwardly private, that means nothing. Chase cannot help remembering the past few weeks, the knowledge that Foreman has had a role in saving his relationship with Cameron, though he still isn't sure exactly what was said between them. Still, he has to admit that Foreman has been generous to him the past three years, offered him the closest thing he's had to friendship, no matter how awkward an approximation. And perhaps Foreman simply doesn't know how to bring up the things he'd like to discuss, thinks Chase, remembering his own past wish for Cameron to discover the bottles of whiskey hidden in his closet.

"I like to get to work on time," says Foreman cautiously.

"You've been early a lot lately," Chase continues, glancing at him sideways. "Earlier than me and Cameron. And believe me, I know how early she gets up." This last is edged in humor, an attempt at lightening some of the tension between them.

"We've been busier than usual," Foreman insists, but now there's a hint of emotion in his voice, and Chase can't quite interpret it. Still, it seems like an invitation to continue pushing; at least it is not an outright refusal yet.

"So your home life wouldn't have anything to do with it," Chase says calmly, making a quick visual sweep of the radiology suite to assure himself that the procedure is still suitably far from over. The point of this is not to broadcast Foreman's personal life to the hospital gossip mill.

"No," he answers, but too quickly. Perhaps another sign, of his need for help, of his inability to admit any sort of personal weakness.

"I saw her file," Chase offers, though he knows that Foreman is aware. "I saw the MRI. You told me what was going on then, and that you were going to Wilson for a second opinion. It was obviously affecting you a month ago. Why try to hide it now? I already know what's going on."

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," says Foreman tightly. "And don't act like you're in any position to be anyone's confidante right now."

"It's not like it's that hard to guess," says Chase, aware of how insensitive it sounds. Softness and sympathy have never gotten him anywhere with Foreman, especially not in the face of an accusation like this one. To plead for trust would only earn total contempt. For one fleeting moment, Chase sees himself one and the same with House's ghost. "She has a tumor. She's dying. You feel like you're responsible. You really think I'm _not_ in a position to tell you how dangerous it is to let yourself be consumed by guilt? You need to talk about it."

"You have _no idea_," Foreman says sharply, as though they are no longer at work at all. Chase knows he's struck a nerve.

"You think you're the only one who's ever lost a loved one?" asks Chase, goading now. It's easy, he thinks, pretending that neither of them really cares what's said in this conversation. This is the way House led so many people to realize the truths of their own lives, heartless or not.

"She has a tumor," says Foreman at last, the deceptive calm of his voice signifying that this is the thing he's been hiding from all along. "It's going to kill her. She doesn't want treatment, she wants to die. On her terms. She asked me to help."

And just like that, all the certainty is gone, the words of support Chase has been gathering for a trial run fleeing his mind in the space of one breath. He feels gutted by this revelation, for the first time realizing how completely he's allowed his defenses to fall as his own demons come rushing up like an echo to Foreman's confession. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead chokes on the bitter bile of futility.

"This is why I didn't tell you," Foreman sneers, as though this silence has confirmed all of his worst assumptions. "Knew you couldn't handle it." And with that, he turns and sweeps out of the room, leaving Chase to wait helplessly for the x-ray results.

—

There is nothing notable at Marie Donovan's apartment. It's a small, two-room place with a kitchenette that seems more like a hotel suite than a home. There are a few pictures on one of the shelves: a boyfriend, or husband, perhaps, and an older couple Cameron guesses are parents.

She's asked a nurse to get both permission and keys from the patient, and worn full protective gear here, though now it feels like a foolish overreaction. Still, she remembers everything she's read about workplace hazards since her near-exposure to Elizabeth Speck's deadly MRSA infection. Cameron has always been careful, though she knows that working for House has paradoxically eroded some of her instincts when it comes to dangerous situations. She wishes now that she hadn't let her emotions get the better of her, drive her decision-making. There is absolutely no reason why both Foreman and Chase need to be at the hospital watching the radiology technician perform the x-ray; now she wishes one of them was with her instead.

But nothing happens. The apartment is clean: no strange mold growing in the refrigerator, no drugs in the bathroom stronger than Tylenol, no peeling wallpaper concealing toxic fungus. Still, by the time she's made it back to the hospital with her neat bags of carefully-labeled samples, her heart is pounding. She wishes she could spend time in the decontamination shower without arousing suspicions, compromising her authority. These things she swallows down, telling herself it's nothing more than anxious paranoia, fueled by third trimester hormones.

Chase and Foreman are both back in the office when she arrives, leaving her with no time or space for further worries. A blessing or a curse, she isn't sure. They are both quiet, unusual for them in the middle of a case, and avoiding each other's eyes. Cameron wonders for a moment what's happened between them while she's been gone, but this is neither the time nor place to ask about that either.

"Anything?" asks Chase, getting to his feet to take the bag of samples from her. Ordinarily she might refuse on the grounds of not wanting special treatment, but today she just wants the thing as far away from herself as possible, though she knows it's safely sealed, and highly unlikely to contain anything dangerous besides.

"No," says Cameron, taking a seat at the table. "The apartment building is new, and she keeps it immaculate. No drugs either. I took some samples, but I can't imagine we'll find anything to explain her symptoms there."

"X-ray shows white cloudiness in the left lung," says Chase, handing over the film.

Cameron holds it up to the light, feeling as though her own breath is being stolen, her heart pounding in her temples. Seldom can she remember being this upset over a case, and on those few occasions, there was always House to fall back on for a diagnosis. Now it is her department, and her emotions threatening the patient's life. On the x-ray, just as Chase has said, the lower left lung appears feathery, fluffy, almost, as though it might be filled with cotton. A beautiful image of something unquestionably deadly.

"Pneumonia?" asks Cameron. "Not bacterial, given the antibiotics. Or at least not one of the common bacteria. But if it's fungal, I doubt she got it in her apartment. There was no sign of mold, or anything else that could give off spores."

"Maybe she doesn't spend much time in her apartment," suggests Foreman, speaking up for the first time since Cameron's gotten back. "You said it was clean, right? But Marie's been sick pretty much since she got pregnant. Who had the energy to clean the place?"

"Her parents, maybe," says Cameron, remembering the picture. "Or maybe you're right. We should talk to her. See if we can get an explanation, or some other clue."

"I don't think we've got time for that," Chase interrupts. "I did an exam as well. Crackling in her lungs."

"Could be cardiac," says Cameron, though she's well aware of all the dangers that might mean, and also the fact that in her fear, she's biased herself toward non-infectious diagnoses, though she knows she's taken all the necessary precautions to protect herself and her own child.

"It's not," Chase answers evenly, not missing a beat. "Did an EKG when I heard the crackling. Normal. Whatever this is, it's attacking her lungs."

"Then what are you thinking?" asks Cameron, no longer trusting her own judgment. A mere few months ago, she would have thought it a terrible mistake trusting Chase with a diagnosis as crucial as this one. Now, she thinks he is the best-equipped to save this woman's life.

"Given that it's not cardiac and that you didn't find anything at the apartment to suggest fungal, I think pulmonary embolism," Chase answers. "We need to do a chest CT right now. If I'm right, her lung could collapse at any minute."

"No," Cameron answers sharply, practically before she's even registered her own reaction. "That's too much radiation. We just did the x-ray." She is being irrational now in the extreme, she knows. His logic makes sense, the urgency of the possibilities calls for an immediate response, and yet she cannot bring herself to make this decision knowing the dangers posed to Marie's unborn baby.

"We don't have a choice," says Chase. He is entirely transformed now, his tone and posture making her feel as though she might be looking back through the years at House, in his diagnostic prime, before everything else had taken over. "There's no good answer here. If it's bacterial and it hasn't responded to antibiotics, she's probably not going to be able to recover no matter what we do. If it's fungal, the treatment will almost certainly harm the baby. If it's pulmonary and we don't treat in time, her lung collapses and Marie and the baby probably both die. So what do you want to do? Risk the test and hope the answer is something we can still treat, or sit around waiting for whatever it is to get bad enough that we'll see it at autopsy? Because those are our options right now."

Hearing the situation posed in those terms, in black and white, Cameron feels paralyzed, helpless, like a first year medical student again, with too many options and nowhere among them a way to reliably avoid doing harm. But Chase is right, she knows. He alone has been able to focus singularly on this case, to put his emotions aside and lay the facts out bare. It is monumental progress for him, and in that realization, Cameron knows without question what her answer must be for the good of this woman and her baby.

"That's your decision to make," she answers, getting to her feet slowly. "I'm taking myself off the case."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	58. Chapter 58

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTE: This post was delayed due to a slew of computer problems. Sorry about that.

NOTE #2: And apparently in my frantic rush to get this posted, I failed to notice the Track Changes issue in the first paragraph. Fixed now. Pay no attention to the man (super awesome beta) behind the curtain!

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Watching Cameron get to her feet, slowly retrieve her labcoat and purse, and leave the room, Chase feels utterly surreal, as if he might be standing in the middle of a dream about to depart into nightmare. For a moment he wonders whether he ought to stop her, convince her that she's still needed to solve this case. But almost as soon as the thought occurs to him, he knows it would be a mistake. Her judgment is clearly clouded by her emotions regarding Marie Donovan's pregnancy; under any other circumstances, she would be just as aggressive in ordering the tests he's suggested. Sitting in silence, he can only hope that she sees her decision in the same light that he does, as a responsible step rather than a failure. Still, knowing how hard she has always been on herself, he can't help being concerned. But that discussion will have to wait for later, for home, or at least until he's ensured that their patient and her baby are safe. Cameron has entrusted him with that responsibility, he knows. The weight of that burden feels even greater, knowing Foreman's earlier confession, and the fact that his full focus is likely not on the case at hand either.

"We need to get to Radiology right now," Chase says at last, getting to his feet decisively. He fully expects Foreman to protest, to mock him, or otherwise criticize his leadership.

But it doesn't come. Instead, Foreman simply nods, standing as well. "You go get Marie's consent. I'll talk to Radiology. Meet me there as soon as you can."

Once again, Marie seems resigned to the risks she must accept, or perhaps in denial. Regardless, she signs the forms wordlessly, and Chase knows better than to question her motives. He is confident that the chest CT is absolutely paramount in saving her life, and he has learned too well from House not to lead patients into second guessing their acceptance of procedures which are necessary. Marie appears even more out of breath as she's wheeled to Radiology, though she's barely moved. She hasn't even sat up recently, or rolled over in the bed. The effort of lying there, completely still, seems to take a huge amount of energy out of her frail frame.

As she's moved onto the table for the procedure, and Chase watches the technician prepare, he cannot help momentarily picturing Cameron in her place. Thus far, he's been able to separate his own parental emotions from the case. But now, suddenly, he feels a fleeting wave of anxiety, the reality of the gamble they're taking settling heavily in his lungs like the echo of a symptom. He remembers the absolute fear when Cameron thought she might miscarry, and wonders why Marie has so far had no visitors. If the father is aware of this baby's existence, he certainly doesn't seem committed to any kind of involvement or support.

"It's not that I couldn't handle it," Chase says to Foreman abruptly, once they are again behind the glass observation wall, watching the technician work. "I was just—surprised." Realizing that Marie is alone in her time of crisis has made him once again compelled to repay the support he's received in his own life. He has never been able to figure out how to be properly grateful when needing help feels like a failure on his part.

Foreman turns to look at Chase slowly, his face a mixture of mistrust and disdain. "I'm not talking about this any more. We're at work, on a case. And you should be worrying about your wife right now, not me."

"She's not my wife," Chase answers sharply, surprised by the surge of regret the careless use of that word triggers in him. He has been feeling increasingly optimistic about his future with Cameron, but such a clear reminder of what they've lost is still deeply painful. Yet at the same time, it's further insight into Foreman's thoughts, he realizes. He can be objective enough to recognize this now. "But you know that. Which means you are preoccupied with your marriage. I mean, how could you not be? Have you talked to her about it? How you're feeling?"

"We talked," says Foreman tightly, obviously not enthusiastic about discussing this further, but not refusing outright, either. "She told me what she wanted. I listened."

"Did you give her an answer?" asks Chase, lowering his voice. He's too well aware of the potential legal ramifications of what Foreman is considering, but they can be discreet, and he knows better than to think he'll get a better opportunity to have this conversation outside of work. He's never socialized much with Foreman, even less so since going to a bar became out of the question.

"I said no," Foreman answers firmly, glancing around nervously. "That what she's asking is illegal. I won't be a part of that."

"That was all you told her?" Chase is a little shocked by this answer, though he's fairly certain that he shouldn't be, knowing Foreman. Legalities are far safer to discuss than emotions, rooted in reason and objectivity. Still, Chase thinks that were he in Thirteen's position, there is no way such an answer would not have felt dismissive, insulting. "That you wouldn't even consider her wishes because it might get you in legal trouble?"

"That's not what I said," Foreman snaps, looking visibly upset now.

"That's how it sounds," says Chase. "Whether you meant it that way or not. It also makes you sound like a hypocrite. You've been working for House for almost ten years. She saw how you operated on the team. We broke the rules all the time if we thought it was in the patient's best interest. That's what she's asking you to consider doing for her."

"It's not that simple." This in a rush, and Chase knows he's finally pushed his way past the carefully-crafted barrier of logic and reason Foreman uses to wall off his true emotions.

"I _know_ it's not," Chase answers vehemently, satisfied that he's finally reached a position of being able to say what he needs to and get through to Foreman. "That's why you can't talk or think about it like it is. Remember when you thought you were dying, and you were furious with all of us for putting infection control procedure over your possible diagnosis? The last thing you should be doing now is trying to simplify this decision. I'm not going to tell you what to do. I can't. You have to make it for yourself, and be prepared to fully own whatever you choose."

"Yeah, because you did a _great_ job of that," Foreman sneers.

"I didn't." Chase swallows. "I'm a disaster. But that's exactly why I can help you. Talk to her. Really talk to her. About how you feel, not just about what you think. That's the only chance you've got to make a choice you won't regret."

–

Cameron wanders after leaving the office, feeling directionless, suddenly stripped of purpose. She is desperate for a distraction from the case she's just left; in her heart she knows she has made the right decision leaving it for Chase and Foreman to handle, but the niggling doubts simply refuse to be silenced, a constant reminder that regardless of the decisions they make, the responsibility for a possible outcome still lies with her.

She finds herself in front of the nursery's observation window almost without a thought; as she comes to a stop with her hands resting on the sill, she has no memory of how she's made the decision to come here. For a moment she cannot bring herself to really take in the scene before her, has to concentrate on her own breathing, and focusing on the present moment. Only then can she truly allow herself to see the babies in the nursery, the way their small, bright eyes and miraculously perfect fingers are poised to take hold of the world, to change their families' lives forever. Then comes the now-familiar stir of movement from within Cameron's own belly, as if her unborn daughter might somehow sense the importance of this. The first seven months of pregnancy have seemed to slip by in a rush, at once interminable, alien, and all too fast. In just under two months, they will be meeting their own child for the first time, she thinks, and is nearly overwhelmed by a mix of elation and fear.

She isn't sure how long she stands there, feeling simultaneously frozen and more alive than she has in a very long time. But eventually it becomes too much, too intense, and she makes the decision to move on, once again wandering until she finds herself in the cafeteria, seated in one of the corner booths with a mug of tea between her palms. She hasn't even thought about the potential consequences of being seen here by others during a workday, has simply assumed that she will wait for Chase and Foreman to solve the case, until Cuddy slips into the booth across from Cameron, shattering her thoughts.

"Hi," Cameron manages, trying not to show her surprise.

"Some of the nurses were worried about you," says Cuddy, not bothering with the formality of a greeting. "They said you looked disoriented. Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine." Cameron clears her throat, feeling herself flush. Throughout her pregnancy, she has tried to avoid special treatment, minimize the effects her body's changes have had on her work. Now she cannot tell whether Cuddy is sincere or bluffing: this could be either real concern, or a gentle prelude to reprimand. Or perhaps both.

"You know that you need to put the baby's health ahead of anything else in your life," says Cuddy. "Including professional responsibilities. I would never ask anything else of you."

Real concern, then, thinks Cameron, and her shame at being discovered in this way growing. "I am. Everything is fine. I was just—a little lost in thought, I guess."

"No case today?" asks Cuddy, her tone making it clear that she knows the department is not unoccupied.

"Chase and Foreman are with the patient," Cameron answers carefully. She realizes that she cannot predict how Cuddy will react to her decision, being at once a mother herself, and still responsible for the hospital's productivity. Cameron is not sure where to draw the line herself of late, though Cuddy has years more experience.

"And you're taking a lunch break?" Cuddy presses, still clearly trying to steer the conversation towards an admission without the use of direct forcefulness.

"I took myself off the case," Cameron says bluntly. "I'm assuming you already knew that. Did you come to ask me to justify myself?"

"Yes," says Cuddy, "in part. I know your patient is pregnant and at high risk. I wanted to hear your reasoning for your decision before I made any further judgments. And I also wanted to ensure that you still think holding this position is the best choice for you, given your circumstances."

Cameron is silent for a long moment, trying to make sense of her emotions this afternoon, and what they ought to be telling her. "I don't know," she admits at last, though the words are difficult to speak aloud. "Our patient is pregnant, and she needs a chest CT. I took myself off the case because I realized I couldn't be impartial, and I was only going to hold things back. When House died, I wanted to keep the department open because I'd seen how many people it helped. People who weren't going to get answers anywhere else. I'd like to think I've been doing a good job of that. But today—I'm just not sure."

"I think you just answered your own question," says Cuddy. "It isn't easy knowing when to take yourself off a case, especially when it's one you feel personally invested in. House never succeeded at that. Never even tried. And god knows I almost killed Emma Sloane and her baby, I was so desperate to find a way to save them both. The fact that you knew when to step back and trust your team tells me that you are still fit to run this department, assuming you want to. Although I would understand if you wanted a less stressful position."

"No," says Cameron, surprising herself with the certainty of her reaction. It's the first thing she's felt completely sure of all day. "I want this job."

Before Cuddy can respond, Chase comes into the cafeteria, making his way over to their table immediately.

"Do you have an answer?" asks Cameron, her stomach tightening with anxiety. This is the moment of truth, proof of whether her decision was a mistake.

"Pulmonary embolism," says Chase. "Her lung was already partially collapsed. We got her into emergency surgery, and she's in recovery now. Looks like an excellent prognosis for both Marie and her baby." He smiles, the familiar exhilaration of a solved case shining through the tiredness in his eyes.

"Looks like you made the right decision," says Cuddy, getting to her feet. "Both of you. And now I have to get to a meeting."

"Are you going to say anything?" Cameron asks Chase, after Cuddy is out of earshot. She finds she is still afraid of his judgment above anyone else's, though she tells herself she has no reason to be.

"What is there to say?" asks Chase. "I agree with Cuddy."

Cameron nods slowly, finally letting exhausted relief sink into her muscles, accepting that this is going to be a good outcome for everyone.

"Foreman wanted to stay late," says Chase, and Cameron thinks from the tone of his voice that they have discussed more than just who will take the night shift.

She decides to leave it at that for the moment, though she knows there will come a point when she will need to confront Foreman directly. "So, what now?"

"Now you need to tell me what the baby wants for dinner, Boss," says Chase, grinning. "Pickles dipped in vanilla ice cream?"

Cameron makes a face, laughing at the unexpected image. "No. But pineapple pizza sounds really good right now."

"As weird cravings go, I think that's one I can support," says Chase, and reaches for her hand.

* * *

Reviews are always appreciated!


	59. Chapter 59

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

**NOTES**: So I have a number of really important and exciting things to tell you guys this chapter.

1. Due to my summer internship schedule, I'm changing my update days to Sunday and Thursday. It works out to be the same intervals in the long run, but it'll mean that I won't have to stay up all night writing and then get up at 7 to go to work in the lab.

2. I'm going to officially say that there are now ten chapters left, including the epilogue. I cut a few things from my outline, because I decided that they were unnecessary and would have made the story lose momentum at the end, which I definitely don't want. Of course, I reserve the right to change this number at anytime, but I'm close enough to the end now that I really doubt that will happen.

3. _**If you don't read anything else in this note, read this part!**_ Finally, I'm really excited to share with you this beautiful piece of fic art by my good friend Kitsune. You can see it (or buy prints, if you so desire) at her website: http:// silvertales. com/commissions/michelle_comm1 .html (Take out the spaces when you paste the URL.) I really hope you'll take a look!

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Nine

"You survived," says Cameron, practically the second Chase walks through the door of the condo. It's Christmas Eve, and there's an air of playfulness about her which has been missing lately amidst the rush of work and the stress of a holiday season from which her extended family has been conspicuously absent. Tonight, she is standing in the shadows of the living room, illuminated only by the red-gold glow of their tree as its lights pulse rhythmically, like a heartbeat.

Chase grins in return. "I did." He has spent the day at work, doing his now-customary holiday shifts in the clinic and the ER. With the knowledge of how many people are hospitalized each year at Christmas, it seems only right to him that some of his time should go toward ensuring that they get a good standard of care despite the usual staff shortages. His replacement, in recent years, for the worship of holiday mass which now brings back too many bitter—and sometimes bittersweet—memories of his parents.

It's also been a good distraction from being alone, during the many holiday seasons in which he was. The past few Christmases, he's been haunted by visions of that one perfect week with Cameron's parents in Chicago, wondering resentfully whether she'd been with them, decorating their tree full of memories, and blissfully oblivious to his loneliness. Now, as he drapes his coat over the arm of the couch and crosses the room to kiss her, he thinks it must have been otherwise then, as much an act of going through the motions for her as his last few years have been.

"Thank you," Chase breathes against her lips, threading his fingers into her hair. She's wearing a red bathrobe, the fabric soft beneath his palm as he traces the curve of her back, letting his hand come to rest just above her waist, the swell of her belly pressed comfortably between them.

"For what?" asks Cameron, looking up at him through her eyelashes, a subtle note of surprise in her voice.

"Letting me go into work," he answers. Outside it's dark, Christmas lights all over the street winking at him like many-colored animal eyes. Snow is just beginning to fall. "I know this can't be easy for you, with your parents—"

"They made their decision," Cameron interrupts firmly, though Chase understands all too well that she is not condoning their actions, but simply refusing to let them further upset her own life. He had learned all too well how to do the same thing, at least when his parents were still living. "And I want you to do what makes you happy. Besides, we might as well be low-key this year. Next year will be our daughter's first Christmas."

"I love you," Chase breathes, feeling again the warm thrill of anticipation that now accompanies every thought of their family's future. He feels poised on the brink of everything he has ever wanted but hardly dared wish for, and though the nightmares are still his constant companion, spectral reminders of the crimes in his past, he now feels hopeful more often than not.

"I got you something," says Cameron, her eyes sparkling again with that certain devilishness which makes his heart race.

"Yeah?" asks Chase, trying to swallow his anticipation. This is a game they have played for years now, each trying to hide their eagerness from the other. "It _is_ Christmas. Although I thought we were supposed to save the gifts for tomorrow morning."

"Well, we do have a lot of lost time to make up for," Cameron breathes, taking a step backward and untying her robe, then shrugging out of it so that it pools at her feet. Beneath it, she is wearing all red lace, accentuating the growing curves of her belly and breasts.

Chase catches his breath, feeling paralyzed, utterly enthralled by the sight of her like this. He remembers suddenly that first glimpse of her after they'd painted the nursery, how he'd been overwhelmed by the visible evidence of their child's growth within the haven of her womb. He has loved every moment of watching her body change, yet another sign of the subtle and monumental progress within their lives this year. Her confidence in this moment, the quiet pride that seems to glow all around her, tightens his throat with tenderness.

"You look—incredible," Chase murmurs at last, closing the distance between them again, slipping his palm beneath the lace of her top to cradle her belly.

"Merry Christmas," Cameron breathes, her fingers going at once to his tie.

Chase kisses her hungrily, the spell of stillness broken. Suddenly he needs to be touching her, cannot bear to simply stand and observe any longer. She undoes the buttons on his shirt deftly, pushing it off of his shoulders and wasting no time in moving on to his belt. He's naked by the time they've made it into the bedroom, various articles of clothing scattered throughout the living room and hallway. Cameron pauses to kiss him again—slowly, almost reverently—before stretching out on the bed.

Eagerly, Chase crawls onto it beside her, nuzzling her neck before moving down to trail his lips across her collarbone, right above the place where her top begins. They have adapted to the changing shape of her body more easily than he'd thought would be possible; tonight feels completely natural, though so much is already different. Carefully, he slips one of the lacy straps down her shoulder, ghosting his fingers over the swell of her breast before following with his lips. Cameron moans softly in response, her fingers curling into his hair as she arches toward his mouth. Finding her nipple, he strokes very gently with his tongue, listening to her breathing hitch. When she can stand it no longer, Cameron pulls the top over her head, a silent signal for him to move onward.

Slowly, Chase makes his way down her body, trailing tiny kisses over the skin of her belly. For the moment he is completely focused on her, on the noises she's making in response to him, her pleasure, barely aware of his own needs. Slipping his fingers beneath the lace waistband of her panties, Chase watches goosebumps rise on her skin before working the fabric down her legs. Cameron catches her breath again, making a small, needy noise that sends a wave of dizzying urgency through Chase as he presses his lips to her inner thigh and slowly begins to stroke. Closing his eyes, he allows himself to be lost in this moment. For the past three years, he's seen everything in his life from the perspective of what's been lost, what he's ruined. But now, in the glow of the Christmas tree, snow coming down outside, he sees instead in terms of things yet to come.

"Robert," Cameron interrupts him at last, the sound of her voice drawing his gaze back up to her face. "Come here." She almost doesn't need to say anything; so much is unspoken and simply understood between them now.

Wordlessly, Chase moves back up the bed, kissing her shoulderblade as she turns onto her side. She whimpers softly as he positions himself and slips inside of her, the length of his body pressed against her back. With his fingers he finds her nipple again, caressing gently as he begins to move, at last letting his attention turn to the sensations of his own body. In this instant, he feels complete again, though still almost wholly undeserving. Her love is profound, has already proven itself strong enough to see past his addictions and save his life. Moving faster, Chase entwines his fingers with hers, needing desperately to be closer, impossibly close. Cameron turns over her shoulder, catching his eyes just as she reaches climax. Kissing her frantically, Chase follows her over the edge a moment later, a raw cry muffled against her lips.

It takes a long time for his breathing to slow, and he rests his forehead against the back of her neck, nose nestled in the sweetness of her hair.

"You've changed my life so much," he manages at last, quietly. "Saved it. I can't even tell you all the ways you've done that."

"I need you," Cameron says simply, her now-customary response, deeply comforting in its familiarity.

"Funny how you came back to me because of House, in the end," says Chase, a hint of bitterness stirring again. In truth, he no longer blames House directly for the dissolution of their marriage, is willing to own his actions and decisions fully. Yet he has to admit that his time spent working with House added to his cynicism, destroyed his own brand of idealism just as it had Cameron's, until it had been difficult to believe that any relationship might survive the hardships of life. In this way they have both been poisoned, if only by knowledge of reality. For that he does not think he will ever be able to forgive House's ghost.

"No," says Cameron softly, surprising him. "I came back to Princeton because of House. I came back to you because I love you. That never changed. I was just—afraid."

For a moment, Chase can only breathe in the words, feeling stunned by them as always. He is learning to accept her love again slowly, to come to terms with the fact that there is happiness in his life without the utter dread of potential loss. Yet the scars are still there, the knowledge of what has happened, what could still happen again. Still he feels compelled to atone for his crimes, to earn in his own way all of the good things which are now within his reach.

"Move in with me," he says softly, at last. They have scarcely spent a night apart in the past month, and Cameron's things now easily take up half the space in his dresser and closet. Still, he feels the need to make this official, to help her finally close out the lease on her apartment and ensure that he will never again wake up to an empty condo filled with ghosts.

Cameron pauses, turning over to face him before answering. "Are you sure? I know that's—huge for you."

Chase nods, swallowing, her acknowledgment putting any remaining fears to rest. "The nursery is here. And I want to be with you. All the time. I'll take care of everything for you, if it's what you want."

"Of course I do," Cameron answers, kissing him gently. Chase closes his eyes, bringing one hand up to stroke her hair.

The next few minutes pass in comfortable silence, save for the sounds of cars passing in the street below. The last of the dusk light has faded, leaving the snow to fall in the black stillness outside, the flakes turned multicolored by the glow of the many Christmas light displays.

"You know," Cameron says, breaking the silence at last, "we chose a theme for the nursery, but we still haven't decided on a name."

"Told you I'm not any good at girl names," says Chase, surprised to have reached this moment already. It feels too soon still, yet he knows Cameron is right. They have scarcely seven weeks before the baby is due; it's high time they made a decision.

"So you have no preferences?" Cameron asks playfully, poking him in the ribs. "If I wanted to name her something really awful, you wouldn't object?"

"I didn't say that," Chase protests, laughing. "Maybe I just trust you to have good taste. You're the one who's been reading that name book practically nonstop."

"I have been thinking about it," Cameron admits. "But I would never want to make a decision without you."

"Well, we're not naming her after my mum," Chase says decisively. He has always thought that tradition was a little masochistic; he cannot imagine calling anyone by his mother's name without arousing painful memories every time. "And we sure as hell aren't naming her after House."

Cameron snorts softly. "You weren't joking about being bad at this if you even considered naming her after House."

Chase smiles, laying his hand against her belly again. "Well, knowing you, you already have something in mind."

"I might," says Cameron cryptically. "But you have to like it too."

"Then I think you should tell me what it is," Chase coaxes.

"Abigail," Cameron answers softly, reverently. The way she speaks the word, it seems already to fit, more of a statement than a question. Repeating it over in his mind, Chase cannot now imagine choosing anything else.

"I love it," he says, this decision feeling like yet another gift. Shifting down the bed, he presses his lips to the skin of her belly again. "Merry Christmas, Abigail."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	60. Chapter 60

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

**_NOTE: There's a very small possibility that I won't be able to update on Thursday because I'm moving into my summer apartment and I don't know how long it might take to get internet set up. If I don't have an update then, that's why, and you can definitely expect one by next weekend._**

* * *

Chapter Sixty

On New Year's Day, it rains. Over the course of the past week, it has warmed up just enough for the Christmas snow to melt, the fluffy white drifts transformed instantly into dull gray slush, the sidewalks turned treacherous. The sun sets on the last night of the old year to the sound of wind howling outside the walls of the condo, bloated storm clouds hanging heavy-bellied over the horizon, punctuated with the occasional flash of lightning and accompanying groan of thunder.

Chase and Cameron have spent the day at the hospital working on a case, a kind older woman who only wishes to live long enough to see the birth of her grandchildren, who's turned out to have terminal lung cancer after everything. By the time they make it home amidst the miniature rivers of rain water and snow melt running through the streets, it seems more like a day of mourning than a celebration.

The condo's living room is filled with boxes now; Chase has wasted no time in making good on his promise to help Cameron close out the lease on her apartment. She feels good about this decision, knows it is long overdue and in truth has been waiting only for his acceptance of this next step, knowing that he needed the time to further conquer his fears. Still, tonight she feels simply exhausted, not at all in the mood to play a reorganization game despite Chase's newfound enthusiasm for it. Fitting her things back into the condo feels strangely like working on a jigsaw puzzle; she has spent the last six months encouraging him to fill in the spaces she's left in his life, so now it is their challenge to create a whole new template for their future together.

They've stopped at the diner on the way home from the hospital, and as Cameron sits on the couch with the remains of a chocolate milkshake, she feels almost as though this might as well be any night from the time when they were married, or if not that, then perhaps from when they'd first been moving into this place together, trying to figure out how to make their mismatched furniture and kitchen sets seem complete. Until that point, they'd both been wholly used to living alone.

"God, how many boxes of books do you have?" asks Chase, as he discovers another one. But his tone is good-natured; so far he seems to relish the task of unpacking, even in the face of Cameron's exhausted frustration.

"You saw my shelves," she answers, leaning forward a little to see which part of her collection is in this particular box. "Weren't you the one who always said I could start my own library?"

Chase laughs, picking up a few of the books and glancing over them. "It would certainly be an eclectic library. I think you've got as many medical reference books here as you do romance novels."

Cameron shrugs, scraping the straw against the bottom of her cup to collect the dregs of the milkshake. "I like variety."

Putting the books back, Chase pushes the box over toward the base of one of the bookshelves, though it's already full. They'll have to buy more shelving, Cameron thinks, making a mental note. Something that looks more sophisticated than the cheap collapsible ones she'd hastily bought for her new apartment here. It has never felt like home, she realizes, but merely another stepping stone in her journey toward recapturing the happiness she'd once found here. And perhaps that was always intentional. On the coffee table, the azalea plant sits resplendent with white blossoms even in the midst of winter; the miniature rose bush Chase had given her during her week of bed rest is a few feet away, resting atop of the speaker next to the television. So far they are the only two plants currently occupying the condo, but Cameron already has plans for the window boxes as soon as the weather turns warm enough again.

"Pretty sure you're the only woman I've ever been with who has more books than shoes," says Chase, holding up a pair of heels from another box.

This time Cameron laughs, caught off-guard by the comment. It's only recently that he's begun once again to joke about their relationship, his acceptance of its reality now seeming near complete. He still has times of uncertainty and fear—she can see it in his eyes sometimes, when he thinks he's gone a step too far, when he's first awakened in the morning, almost inevitably from the grips of a nightmare. But every day now he seems a little stronger, a little more alive, surprising her with playfulness in moments like this one.

"I have a list of books I want to get for Abby," says Cameron. The nickname has already stuck in the week since making their decision.

Chase snorts. "Why am I not surprised? Although I guess I should be glad you're not into the Baby Einstein craze yet."

Cameron wrinkles her nose. "Why would I want to play her tapes when we can read to her ourselves? Besides, all the research suggests that hearing a parent's voice enhances development."

Shoving the box of shoes toward the hallway, Chase begins un-taping another one, ignoring the fact that he's making more of a mess than actual progress. Outside, the storm has picked up, the wind howling louder, and the lights flickering occasionally, punctuated by a rolling, percussive wave of thunder. There's less than an hour left until midnight, Cameron realizes, and considers turning on the television when she remembers what night this is. It seems almost redundant; this year has seen so many new beginnings in their lives that it feels ludicrous to consider one night any kind of real milestone.

She has just made a decision, gotten up to retrieve the remote, when pounding on the door makes her jump, diverting her path into the front hallway. It's Foreman's face that she sees through the peephole; he's still dressed in his suit from work. Her first thought is that something has happened with their patient, that she's taken a turn for the worse even more quickly than the rapid decline they've predicted. And though that doesn't explain why he hasn't simply called first, Cameron doesn't hesitate to let him in.

"What happened?" asks Cameron. "My cell phone's on."

"Where's Chase?" Foreman asks gruffly instead, surprising her.

Cameron takes half a step backward, reeling at the smell of alcohol on his breath. In the light from the living room, she can see now that he's completely drenched from the rain, his gait uneven and his posture unsteady, even while standing still. The sight of him now reminds her eerily of the way Chase had looked all those months ago at House's funeral, drunk, high, and on the verge of collapse. She knows now instantly that this must be personal, must have nothing to do with the case. She remembers too well Cuddy's warning, and thinks she ought not to be so shocked if Foreman has been talking to Chase about it outside her knowledge. This is a deeply private matter, and her time away has unquestionably strengthened their friendship despite the resentment they each seem to harbor for the actions of the other.

"In the living room," Cameron answers, swallowing down a preemptive wave of dread at what might have happened, why Foreman would have come here alone, drunk, in the middle of the night. "He's been helping me—"

But Foreman doesn't wait for the rest of that sentence, heading immediately into the living room, so quickly that Cameron has to catch up. The next few moments pass in what feels like an unreal blur of time, leaving her a stunned and frozen observer. Chase is already on his feet, the boxes forgotten. Still, Foreman moves too quickly for any attempt at conversation, his fist coming up in a vicious if uneven left hook. But for once Chase is too quick, the alcohol intervening between them to allow him to catch Foreman's wrist before any impact can occur. Cameron watches the whole thing in silent shock, barely beginning to breathe again when Chase grabs Foreman by the shoulders, sending him stumbling until his back hits the wall.

"What did you do?" Chase demands, the power in his voice strange and startling. His shoulders are shaking, Cameron notices, yet everything about him exudes surprising strength.

"You bastard," Foreman growls, his voice a mixture of loathing and disgust as potent as the alcohol fumes on his breath. "You _bastard_! My wife is dead because of you!"

"_What_ did you _do_?" Chase repeats, the intensity in his voice rising.

"She couldn't see," Foreman answers tightly. "Woke up yesterday and couldn't—Didn't want to try emergency surgery. Didn't want to try anything. When I got there tonight—"

"What happened?" Chase prompts again, but more gently this time. Foreman's rage is fading visibly, replaced by a terrible grief which seems to permeate the room, almost as though the wind outside might be howling in mourning, in sympathy with him. Cameron feels her own eyes fill with tears; she has never been particularly close to Thirteen, but still she understands all too well this kind of loss, has come too close to a repeat with Chase over the course of the past year.

"When I got there tonight, she had a syringe of morphine," says Foreman, after a moment. "Got it from the homecare nurse somehow. Said she wanted me to be the one to—" His face hardens once more into a mask of anger and resentment. "I would _never_ have _considered_ it if it wasn't for you. Should've known better than to listen to a murderer."

"I didn't tell you what to do," Chase says firmly, strong in his convictions, even in the face of such an obvious attack, and Cameron realizes they must have discussed this at length. A few months ago Chase would have lashed out, or simply broken down. "All I said was that you needed to talk to her, and discuss it seriously. I _also_ told you that you needed to be prepared to own any actions you took. Blaming me won't bring her back."

"You made the right choice," Cameron breaks in, surprising herself. She has been standing by the arm of the couch, well away from the two of them, but now makes her way over to stand beside Foreman, trusting him not to attempt further violence. "There was no good option, but you did the best you could to give her what she wanted. She must know how much you love her."

"How would you know?" Foreman asks sharply, turning on her. "You're so ready to be righteous. You wouldn't even _know_ what happened if Chase could keep a damned secret."

"He didn't tell me," says Cameron, surprised by the accusation. That Chase has not shared Foreman's confidences with her speaks only further to his worthiness of trust. "Cuddy told me about your appointment with Wilson. She felt I needed to know for the sake of departmental liability."

"Well, that's great." Foreman laughs bitterly, throwing up his hands and nearly losing his balance from the force of the movement. "It's nice to know the entire hospital thinks I'm incompetent."

"You did the right thing," Cameron repeats, ignoring him. "She knew what she wanted. She was going to act on it no matter what you did. But you gave her the gift of being with her in those last few moments. Would you really be able to live with yourself if she'd gone through with it alone?"

"No one thinks you're incompetent," Chase continues, when Foreman remains silent. "You have people who care about you. Don't be like me. Save yourself the trouble and just accept it."

"'s not that simple," Foreman insists, slurring badly now that grief seems to be overtaking his anger.

"It's never simple losing someone you love," says Cameron, glancing sideways at Chase. He's still shaking, she notices, but he seems strangely accepting of the whole situation, like being forced to defend himself has further strengthened his faith in his own decisions. In this moment, he seems almost at peace.

Silently, cautiously, Cameron steps closer and slips an arm around Foreman's shoulders, wishing as she always does that she might be able to lessen the pain by taking some on herself. Swallowing, Chase adjusts his stance as well, pressing one hand protectively to the small of her back, but laying the other on Foreman's shoulder. Listening to the storm outside, Cameron closes her eyes against her own hot tears, thinking it must be after midnight by now. A new year dawning as they stand among the wreckage of what once was the family which brought them all together.

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated! (9 chapters to go! Please let me know you're not tired of me yet. ;p )


	61. Chapter 61

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Sixty-One

Chase spends nearly an hour convincing Foreman to spend the night on their couch, not to attempt the drive home in his present condition, or to stay there alone. There will be many preparations to attend to in the morning, but for now they can wait. A few minutes after Cameron has retreated to the bedroom to allow them to talk in private the power flickers off, plunging the condo into darkness as the storm rages on outside. Chase sits in the recliner in silence until he's certain Foreman has fallen asleep or passed out; he doesn't check which.

Memories come unbidden, more ghosts of the past three years. He remembers Foreman coming here the weekend after Cameron's disappearance, forcing him to eat, to move from the couch for the first time in days. It had been the first of many such occurrences, at least until he'd gotten better at hiding his torments, had learned once more to convince everyone that he was fine and functional. Until he'd learned—as his mother had before him—how to use the drugs and the alcohol to blunt his senses. Now he thinks of Foreman's wedding, of his own resentment of their happiness on that day. He feels no guilt now over the guidance he's tried to give Foreman; rather, he aches at the injustice of the suddenness and permanence of their relationship's end. In his lowest moments, he'd believed it might have been easier had Cameron been taken from him by death as his parents have, less deliberate than a choice to condemn their marriage of her own volition. Now it seems shockingly unfair that he should get another chance at happiness after the plunder he's made of his own life, that he should be the one with a future and a family while Foreman is left bereft by the injustice of illness.

By the time he makes his way into the bedroom, Chase feels utterly drained, physically exhausted as though he's been fighting a real battle all day. Cameron has lit a scented candles, he notices as he steps inside, closing the door quietly behind himself. She must have gotten it out of one of her boxes, he realizes; the entire room smells subtly of lavender and vanilla.

"You're still up?" Chase asks, surprised. She has been falling asleep earlier and earlier as her pregnancy has progressed. Now he wonders momentarily about the stress this night has put on her, hoping it has not been too much undue strain.

Cameron shrugs evasively. "The storm's loud. Figured I'd wait until it quieted down before trying to go to sleep."

"So you wouldn't have been waiting to see if I was okay?" asks Chase, gently. Her trust in him seems paradoxically to have improved since his latest episode of relapse; she's been as quietly supportive as ever, always available when he's needed her, but never forceful or intrusive. He knows she is more aware now of the dangers posed by his addiction, but she has not raised it as a concern, nor does she seem to expect another failure.

Cameron smiles sheepishly. "That too. Come to bed?"

Chase nods, quickly stripping to his boxers, then opting for a pair of sweatpants instead. He feels chilled, though the weather is warmer now than it has been the past few weeks, a mid-winter thaw with the coming of this storm.

"Is Foreman asleep?" asks Cameron, rearranging her many pillows as Chase slips into bed beside her. She has yet another book open on her lap, this one about balancing childcare with work. That is a discussion they have not yet had, though now is neither the time nor place.

"Think so," says Chase, settling on his side of the bed and inhaling the scent of the candle, willing his muscles to relax. His body remains tense, heavy with shared grief, though he's trying his hardest to return to some semblance of calm. "Either that or passed out. I hope I don't have to tell him drinking won't really dull the pain. God knows I've been enough of an example."

"He'll be okay," says Cameron, closing her book neatly and setting it on the nightstand, a safe distance from the candle.

From anyone else this would sound like denial, a nice platitude designed to make him stop thinking about what's happened, or feel justified in repressing it at the very least. But he knows better than to think Cameron would ever intend such a thing. This is the kind of pain she knows all too well; it has shaped and colored who she is like many centuries of water over rock. If she is making such a definitive statement, it's certainly for a reason.

"How do you know?" he asks cautiously, turning onto his side to face her in the bed. In the uneven glow of the candle, she looks even more exhausted than he feels, the shadows under her eyes enhanced. Chase feels instantly immensely protective of her, especially with Foreman's loss as a reminder of that sort of awful pain.

"Because we'll make sure of it," Cameron says softly, finding his hand under the sheets and lacing their fingers. "Because we've all had too many reminders of why we need to be able to rely on each other, and know when to ask for help. And because now he's done waiting. That's—the hardest part of watching someone die. Knowing that no matter how bad a day they might be having, or how many times you think you can't go on, it's always going to be worse when you finally do lose them. Now he can start healing."

"Is that what it was like for you?" Chase asks quietly, slipping his arm beneath her shoulders. "When your first husband was dying?"

Cameron nods slowly, shifting to lean her head against his shoulder. "I was lucky, though. I had friends. And my parents were very supportive. That was before they decided that I must like being miserable."

"I'm sorry," Chase says softly, kissing the top of her head. "Have you spoken to them at all?"

Cameron shakes her head. "Haven't tried. I guess I might try again after—See if they want to meet their granddaughter." She's quiet for a long moment, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, the storm having quieted to a pattering of rain against the windowpanes. "I couldn't have done it. What Foreman did. Or what you did."

"You really put that in the same category?" Chase asks incredulously. He has never looked at it this way; it's seemed wrong to even consider. He's known that his experiences have put him in a position to help Foreman avoid the same plunge into guilt he's taken, but there's a selflessness, a humanity in Foreman's actions that seems on another level entirely than the decisions in Chase's past.

"Yes," says Cameron sincerely. "You both were in impossible situations. You did what you thought was right, despite the cost to yourself. But I'm not saying you have to see it that way. I know you probably can't."

Chase simply nods, knowing it will take time to fully absorb what she's saying, to let himself develop anything like acceptance. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you what was going on."

But Cameron shakes her head, surprising him again. "You did the right thing. I'm proud of you."

–

The memorial service is quiet and fairly small, though Cameron finds herself surprised by the number of attendees she doesn't recognize. Thirteen has spent much of the past few years working in a different hospital, she reminds herself, to preserve her marriage to Foreman. Coworkers, then, and friends, though no family members so far as she can tell. The service is simple but sincere, with many people speaking. Again, Cameron feels as though the whole thing is surreal, spends it half-lost in memories of House's funeral, the event that seems to have set the past year in motion.

Afterward, Wilson approaches them from his seat at the back of the funeral home, a box in his arms. Cameron is surprised to see him; of course it makes sense that he would have wanted to attend, but she hasn't seen him come in, and wonders whether he's arrived late.

"What's this?" she asks, nodding toward the box he's now holding out. Chase is hanging back some, his gaze on the ground. Cameron knows he's uncomfortable with the fact that she's discussed their relationship with Wilson, but he seems to have accepted the necessity of this counsel, regardless of his personal distrust.

"House—said the three of you would want to have it, when I thought the time was right." Wilson shrugs, trying and failing to appear nonchalant about the subject of this discussion. "I thought now was as right a time as any."

"You were the one who took the things from House's office?" asks Chase, speaking up at last. "You've had them this whole time?"

Wilson nods, and Cameron finds herself unexpectedly shocked by this admission, though she supposes she ought not to be. Still, she remembers the sharp burn of loss upon entering House's outer office, pulling off the dust cloths and finding everything gone already. It had been the time she'd truly been forced to accept the reality of his death, she realizes, even after the funeral. Until that moment, it had been so easy to envision House and the rest of his department miles away from her, everything unchanged save for her own presence. But now it is her department, her desk, and that too has come to feel natural, creeping its way into her bones with every passing day so that she hasn't realized until the transformation was already complete.

"He never told me," says Chase, the slightest hint of sadness in his voice.

"I think there were a lot of people he never told a lot of things," says Wilson carefully, holding out the box again and waiting until Chase steps forward to take it. "But maybe this is a way for him to tell you something now. I think you should look at it."

Slowly the room empties, people trickling out of the funeral home. Never one to be restrained, Thirteen has chosen cremation in her will, and now that the memorial service has ended, Foreman looks directionless, standing just beneath the altar and surveying the empty seats. When she is certain that the other attendees have all gone, Cameron goes up and takes him by the arm, leading him over to the bench where Chase is seated with the box.

"What's this?" asks Foreman, sounding understandably exhausted and uninterested.

For a moment Cameron hesitates, questioning the suitability of telling Foreman to look at these things now. She has no idea what might be in the box, and knowing House, it's equally likely to be priceless personal treasures, or some form of verbal abuse from beyond the grave. Still, Wilson knows more about this than she does, and she trusts his judgment in the end.

"Last gift from House," says Chase, when she hasn't answered. "Apparently Wilson had all the stuff from his office this whole time."

"That's great," Foreman answers flatly. "And you want me to look at it now—why?"

"Wilson thought it would be a good idea," says Cameron, taking a deep breath and hoping again that this isn't about to be a further disaster.

"Besides," says Chase, "might make a good distraction. Do you really want to be going home now?" Over the past week, he has mastered the skill of subtly masked support, the kind which Foreman is more or less willing to accept without a fight.

"Fine," Foreman agrees after a moment, taking a seat. "You open it."

Chase pulls his keys from a pocket, using one of them to slit the tape on the box. The cardboard is old, beginning to disintegrate back into papery dust, and it nearly falls to pieces upon opening. Moving closer, Cameron leans forward to see the box's contents. Papers, mostly, and some books; things tucked neatly into beaten manilla folders. Cautiously, she slides one of them out, flipping it open and half expecting to see the chart from an unsolved case. Instead, there's a multitude of newspaper clippings, magazine articles, print-outs from the internet.

"He's been keeping a file on you," she says to Chase, a strange feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. Contained in this file is more information than she ever could have imagined; House has been silently keeping tabs on Chase's life for years, perhaps knew more by the time of his death than she ever has. It is at once touching and humbling, reassuring and infuriating knowing that House must have known everything, but allowed Chase still to make his own decisions of self destruction.

"You too," says Chase, having pulled the second file from the box. "And some of this is new. I mean—from after you left. You published this article last year."

"Then I guess this one's mine," says Foreman, taking the third file from the top of the box.

From the file he's holding, Chase pulls an envelope with House's chicken-scratch handwriting on the flap. "For you. It's got your name on it."

Taking the envelope, Cameron glances back down at the file in her lap, finding in the back of it an identical one for Chase. Sucking in a breath, she hands it to him. "For you too."

Frowning, Chase tears open his envelope. "'Don't be selfish'," he reads. "House's handwriting."

"'Start thinking for yourself'," recites Foreman, holding up his own note.

Biting her lip, Cameron opens hers at last, feeling a rush of anxiety at what she'll find. But when she sees the words, they feel oddly fitting, almost expected. She has heard them spoken aloud by House before. "'Stop running away.' Somehow he knew."

"He's House," says Chase, rifling through the rest of the box. "Somehow he always knows."

"I think this is for you too, Foreman," Cameron says gently, taking from the very bottom another folder like the first three: Thirteen's file. "This is why Wilson wanted you to have it today."

"I think I should take this home," he says quietly, taking the file and standing. His eyes are filled with deep emotion, though Cameron can't quite read it.

He needs privacy for this, she knows, and nods.

"The rest of this is patient information," says Chase, gathering up the box. "Not—charts. Just—other information. Bios. Newspaper clippings. Stuff like that. God, it's like a whole history of the department in here. Someone should do something to preserve it."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	62. Chapter 62

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Two

January seems to rush by at an accelerated pace, even more rapidly than the previous few months have sprinted along. Cameron has brought the calendar from her apartment, with its neat markings like silent symbols of progress. On February 28th she has marked a large red star, like an early spring flower anticipating their baby's birth. Sometimes in the evenings, when she is preoccupied with reading or working in the nursery, Chase finds himself drawn to the calendar's new position on their bedroom wall. He cannot help but page through it, keeping his own private countdown of the days. They are passing too fast, he thinks, and at the same time not quickly enough at all.

With the beginning of February comes a fresh coat of snow, making the world look clean and new again for a few days. He has been living in Princeton for more than ten years now, Chase realizes, and though he's grown well-accustomed to the air of general depression with which the native residents greet winter weather, it has never ceased to feel special to him. A reminder in glaring contrast of the childhood and past he's tried to leave behind.

Grocery stores are overrun by chocolate, cards, and flowers; he can scarcely turn the television on before being bombarded by commercials for jewelers and a multitude of other materialistic ways to allegedly express his love. That world feels alien to him still, despite the steps he's taken over the past several months to regain some semblance of a normal life. Cameron has never been one to expect extravagance, has always been content in the simple knowledge that her relationships are healthy without needing any elaborate overt demonstrations. Still, Chase remembers the simple joy of being secure enough in their relationship to do such things; two years in a row, he'd had flowers delivered to her ER station on Valentine's day, loving the look of sheepish exhilaration on her face.

Now he can't imagine being confident enough to do such a thing again. He believes in Cameron's love, does not question her commitment to their relationship anymore, and yet in his moments of fear cannot help feeling that he is a tremendous liability in her life. He's spent the past year acutely aware of his own mortality, but now Thirteen's death has reminded him of the fragility of the lives around him. As Cameron enters her final month of pregnancy, surrounded by parenting books and stuffed animals, Chase feels his anxiety grow again, the ever-present nightmares shifting their tone. Before they've focused largely on his past, on the crimes he's spent three years accepting; now, though, they center around everything he holds dearest for the future, a thousand disaster scenarios playing out against the backs of his eyelids when he's exhausted enough to give in to sleep.

The week before Valentine's day is unusually slow at work. They have made their way through the hefty stack of referrals from the holiday season. In the wake of Thirteen's death, Foreman has become more of a workaholic than ever. Now, left with a two-day stretch of no cases, Chase finds himself working long hours in the clinic, unable to be without something to occupy his mind. It's a relief for Cameron, he knows, a chance to catch up on departmental paperwork, and also to be off her feet. There has been some concern about her blood pressure at the last few appointments, inching slowly higher, though so far she has been spared true preeclampsia. Still, Chase has felt especially protective of her, trying silently to help in every way possible despite her protests against any kind of special treatment.

At lunch, he meets her in the cafeteria, a swell of anxiety lodging itself in his throat during the walk from the clinic. He's managed to keep himself busy enough to avoid worrying about her throughout the morning, but now he feels a fresh wave of dread in anticipation of seeing her, of the possibility that something might be wrong. But she looks fine, if tired, seated at their usual table with two plates in front of her.

"Thanks," says Chase quietly, mentally trying to let go of the adrenaline as he leans over and kisses her quickly. Moments like this feel deceptively simple, natural, like they might still be married somehow, with nothing but happy memories in the past. That realization frightens him every time; complacency has always been their enemy, troubles creeping up silently to threaten their relationship. He has never forgotten the silence which ended their marriage: no fighting or screaming, just quiet downfall and implicit acceptance.

"Busy morning?" asks Cameron, as he pulls out his chair and sits down.

Chase shrugs, taking a bite of his sandwich, suddenly ravenous as the adrenaline fades. "Busy enough. Lots of minor injuries. People slipping on the ice. And colds, of course. Pretty sure Brenda's been trying to keep the flu patients away from me. Which I appreciate." His head swims with exhaustion now that he's allowed himself a moment's pause. In recent weeks, he's begun once more to approach the levels of sleep deprivation he'd suffered in the months just after Cameron's return, terrified equally of the nightmares, and the possibility of being awakened by an emergency.

"Still no cases," says Cameron, picking at her food. "Which is sort of nice, actually. I have enough to do without bringing paperwork home."

"I can do it, if you do need to bring it home," says Chase quickly, wondering how much she has been doing this recently, and how he's missed it.

It feels like a perfectly normal lunch, or at least typical by the standards which define their lives lately. He finishes half his sandwich in several large bites, has nearly managed to relax entirely when Cameron reaches for her drink and something catches his eye: She is wearing her engagement ring, the diamond glinting in the low lights of the cafeteria.

Chase feels as though he's been dealt a blow to the gut, instantly wondering how it's taken him this long to notice. He can't say whether she was wearing it when they left the condo together this morning. He has driven to work; he knows he would have noticed had she been wearing it and had her hands been on the steering wheel. The fact that he's just now seen the ring unsettles him deeply, that she hasn't mentioned her decision to wear it bothers him further still. She has put such emphasis on communication and honesty in their relationship now that he cannot help feeling suspicious. It is as though she's chosen to ignore everything that has happened in their past, everything they've learned over the past year. Or worse still, perhaps it really is meaningless to her. Perhaps, he thinks, she is simply wearing it as a statement to the rest of the hospital, a deception to stop gossip about her pregnancy. Perhaps she is still, on some level, ashamed of him.

"What is it?" asks Cameron, frowning.

Only then does Chase realize that he's been staring at her, sitting frozen with the remains of his sandwich in one hand. He regrets eating so quickly now, his stomach roiling with dread. He swallows, with difficulty. "You're wearing your ring."

"Oh." Cameron glances at her hand nonchalantly, almost as though she's forgotten what she's done herself. "I found it again while I was unpacking."

"You finished unpacking last week," Chase says sharply, unable to help himself. He still feels helpless to the panic when it asserts itself at its worst. "You just started wearing it today. This morning? I didn't see you put it on."

"Is that a problem?" asks Cameron, frowning. Chase feels like he can almost see her defenses go up, the tension in her shoulders changing. She has been especially quick to lose her temper in the past few weeks, a combination of stress and pregnancy hormones testing the limits of her usually-boundless patience.

"We're not engaged," says Chase, his jaw tightening painfully. Every muscle in his body feels suddenly tensed to the breaking point, his hands shaking, and he shoves them into his pockets, lunch forgotten. "You divorced me. I didn't propose again."

"I know," says Cameron, putting her fork down and meeting his eyes carefully. Everything about her seems measured, deliberate; she is trying too hard to appear calm. "But we're living together again. In three weeks I'll be having your baby. I thought—"

"You thought what?" Chase interrupts, his heart pounding in his temples. "You thought you'd just pretend nothing ever happened? You _left_ me, Allison. You don't get to just _forget_ about that."

Cameron flinches, but now her eyes are filled with disappointment which almost seems to be bordering on disgust. "Come on, Robert. I thought we were past this."

"So did I," says Chase, nearly choking on the sense of betrayal. For years he has wanted more than anything to forget the pain in his past, to encase it in emotional scar tissue so deep that it might have never happened. Only recently has he learned to accept that truly moving on means not forgetting, but rather acceptance. To think that Cameron now views this ring—which has for so long been a reminder to Chase of what he's lost—as a foregone sign that they are now perfectly restored seems to endanger everything he's just learned to trust. Despite its happiness, he now views much of their marriage as a mistake, a time when they'd deluded themselves into ignoring real problems until they'd ultimately become insurmountable. If they now strive to regain that relationship in exactitude, failure seems predetermined, a repeat of past mistakes.

"Why are you upset?" asks Cameron, sounding for the first time genuinely puzzled by his reaction, beyond simple defensive frustration. "I thought—you'd be happy about it. I just wanted to surprise you."

"You surprised me," says Chase bitterly, then feels instantly guilty. He is making too many assumptions much too quickly, he realizes, letting his anxiety run away with him again. He's afraid of the implications of her actions, true, but the thought that she would deliberately do this to hurt him is ludicrous, pure paranoia.

"So talk to me," says Cameron. She reaches to lay her hand over his on the surface of the table, but Chase flinches away reflexively, as though the ring itself might be harmful.

"Sorry," he manages quietly, after a moment. He forces himself to pick up the cup of water she's gotten for him, to take a sip and laboriously swallow it before speaking again. "I didn't mean to attack you. It just felt like—You wanted to pretend nothing happened. And you didn't even talk to me about it."

"I didn't think we needed to talk about it. It just—felt right to me." Cameron looks at her hands, slowly slipping the ring off and sliding it across the table toward him. "I won't do that if it upsets you."

Chase takes a deep breath, trying to find calm. He feels intensely vulnerable now, defenses eroded by the morning's many stressors. "When we decided to give things another try, we agreed that we couldn't—shouldn't—just pick back up where we'd left off." He swallows, picking up the ring and rolling it slowly between his fingers. Never again will he be able to see this particular ring as an object of joy, he realizes. There are far too many painful, indelible memories attached to it. "I don't want to try to get back to it, either. We made so many mistakes. We've learned so much. Whatever we do now—I want it to be something new."

"I don't think we could go back to that now if we _did_ try," says Cameron gently, reaching out to stroke his arm. "But I see your point. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about it. I'm sorry I upset you. I shouldn't have assumed you'd want this now."

"We've got so much at stake." Chase leans forward, kissing the back of her hand very softly. "I don't ever want to make those mistakes again. I can't lose you."

"You won't," Cameron promises, a soft intensity in her voice. She finds his hand again, lacing their fingers and squeezing gently. "I love you. And I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Feedback is always appreciated!


	63. Chapter 63

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Three

This dream begins differently from all the rest. Later, Chase will wonder whether that was significant, if his subconscious was somehow able to detect what his senses were not.

The confessional booth is small, smaller than he remembers, the walls seeming to press in upon him until there's scarcely enough space to turn around, even. The air smells musty and feels too thin. Chase finds himself gasping for breath, lightheadedness mixing with the tendrils of panic crawling up the nape of his neck to further strangle him. It feels like the proverbial calm before the storm, everything too silent, too still. He is nearly overwhelmed with dread, though he cannot say what exactly it is he fears. Nor can he remember how he's gotten here: it is as though his life begins and ends in this tiny, oppressive space.

"Bless me, Father," he manages, swallowing against the dryness in his throat, "for I have sinned." His lips feel leaden, clumsy, the words falling from them like a foreign language. He isn't sure why he has allowed himself to speak them, except that they seem necessary, the key to whatever is about to happen next. And he might lose his sanity if he is forced to wait any longer.

There is no answer from the other side of the booth, but Chase feels instinctively that someone is there. He can sense eyes on him, the heaviness of an authoritarian gaze fixed on him alone. It seems strangely as though the other man can see straight through him to his innermost thoughts, even the ones which Chase does not yet understand himself. And yet it is not enough to simply think these things in silence; he has come here to make his confession somehow, to the unnamed shadows and silence.

"I killed a man," says Chase, the words etched in his memory, deep like scars. He cringes inwardly at hearing this aloud, though he's repeated it countless times in his mind every day now for the past four years. He knows too well what comes next, could not change it now if he wanted to. This memory is too vivid. "It was the right thing to do."

He pauses here, waiting for the condemnation he knows is coming. But there is nothing. Only silence, and the same sense of the ominous stillness, suspense making his skin crawl. He will not escape this unscathed, he thinks; the longer punishment takes in coming, the more Chase fears it. When he can stand the quiet no longer, he continues talking, words spilling from his lips into the void, acidic and stinging like bile.

"He was going to murder hundreds of thousands of people." Chase rakes a hand through his hair, suddenly aware of the sweat pouring down his face. It is too hot in the booth, and the air seems thinner still; soon he will suffocate, but there is no door, no escape. "I couldn't let that happen. Couldn't have lived with myself if I'd cured him. He was going to go home and commit genocide!"

Nothing still, but the sound of a subtle rustling in the darkness, reminding him that he is not alone, not speaking these words in the safety of isolation. They will have consequences, he is certain. Or maybe it is simply that he hopes.

"I knew it would cost me everything," Chase whispers, feeling his throat tighten. A too-familiar wave of grief sweeps over him, and he chokes on a rough sob, suddenly unable to restrain himself. He feels stripped bare of his usual defenses, helpless and drowning in the tide of his own emotions as a thousand painful memories rise in the back of his mind unbidden.

"I knew she'd leave me," he forces himself to say, the words coming through rough tears now. He is unable to stop, choking on the silence. If he does not speak, he will die. "I knew I'd never be—happy again. Knew the second I made the decision. But I couldn't—I had no choice. Not really."

In the darkness, there is a glimmer of movement, the scraping sound of a match being struck, and then the flickering beginning of a flame. The match falls to the ground of the confessional booth in slow motion, but as it strikes the floor, it ignites instantly. Flames engulf the floor, moving toward Chase on fiery runners. The smoke mixes with his tears, blinding him until there is nothing but blackness, and the pain of heat all around. There is nowhere to move, nowhere to flee, not even enough space to postpone what he knows is coming.

The fire reaches his left ankle first. He feels it begin to climb the cuff of his pants from where he is kneeling. It begins with a simple flush of warmth, before transforming into white-hot searing pain. He opens his mouth to scream, but there is no sound, his lungs filled with toxic fumes and smoke. And then he feels the fire on his tongue, creeping its way impossibly inside him until it has engulfed his very core. He knows unequivocally in this moment that his soul is burning.

"You should thank me for that," comes Dibala's voice from out of the inferno.

Chase wakes with a gasp, panting in the cool air of the bedroom. He is drenched in sweat, the sheets sticking to his skin. For a moment he tries to get his bearings, to reassure himself that it was simply another nightmare. Everything is all right now.

Except it's too quiet in the bedroom; the same sense of silence that filled him with dread in the nightmare confessional is still present now, as though the walls might come crashing down at any moment. The spectral smell of smoke seems to be stuck in his nostrils, along with the acrid metallic tang of blood, the nightmare pursuing him into the reality of this night.

But then another moment passes, and Chase realizes that it is not simply his anxious imagination playing tricks. The scent is real, here in this room, and almost overwhelming. Only then does it occur to him that Cameron should be awake by now, would ordinarily have been disturbed by his nightmare and subsequent panic. And he cannot hear the usual even rhythm of her breathing in sleep, at least not over the sound of his heart pounding wildly in his temples. Spurred by a fresh wave of adrenaline he sits up, switching on the bedside lamp in a rush. What he sees leaves him frozen in horror, like a new nightmare, but truly without escape.

The covers have slid to the foot of the bed, hanging off onto the floor. Cameron is lying surrounded by a huge pool of blood, the mattress saturated. Her skin is already ashen, her breathing too rapid and surreally shallow.

"Allison!" Chase gasps, feeling paralyzed, unable to find his voice. But when she doesn't respond, he manages to kneel, frantically feeling for her pulse. Her skin is cool to the touch and clammy, and for an agonizing moment his hands are shaking too much to feel anything.

"Really hurts," Cameron whispers, surprising him. Her eyes look glassy when she blinks at him, and he isn't sure how lucid she might be. "Tomorrow's Valentine's day. Too early for contractions."

"It's okay," Chase manages, stroking her cheek, forcing the words out past the panic constricting his throat. It's an outright lie. _Nothing_ is okay; nothing will be okay ever again if help doesn't come in time now. She has lost an enormous amount of blood already, though it's hard to truly judge how much by looking at the soaked sheets.

Chase fumbles with the phone in one hand, listens to himself speak to the operator. He feels as though he might be dying himself in this moment, so many thoughts flashing through his mind, playing out on the backs of his eyelids. The ambulance feels so very far off that he's half certain Cameron will die before it even arrives. As for the baby—he doesn't dare _think_ her name now—might already be lost. And for all of his many years of medical training, nearly a decade of immersing himself in the rarest and most critical cases, there is absolutely _nothing_ he can do now but wait.

"Robert," Cameron says softly, finding his hand somehow. She has a strange look on her face now, much calmer than before, as though the pain is a distant memory. She looks illusively peaceful, as though this might really be a dream.

"I love you," Chase says, tears stinging his eyes and blurring the room around him. Everything that he has ever held dear, ever dared hope for, is fading in front of him now. He is certain suddenly that he will lose both Cameron and the baby; it is what he deserves, after all. That he has allowed himself to accept any semblance of happiness again seems the cruelest joke of all. It feels strangely as though he is responsible somehow, though rationally he tells himself there's no way he could have caused such a medical emergency.

"I love you too," Cameron whispers, clearly fading, losing consciousness in the wake of such a phenomenal blood loss. Still, somehow, she manages to lace their fingers, to squeeze his hand weakly. "If you have to make a decision—make sure Abby's okay."

Chase knows instantly what she means by this. She is willing to sacrifice herself for their daughter's life, should the decision come to that. But there is no way he will ever be able to give up on either one of them, Chase thinks. There is no way he will be able to concede to her wishes.

"Allison, I can't," he chokes. But she is unconscious now, plunging him once more into absolute silence.

A wave of heat washes over him, like the fire from his nightmare. He is going to pass out, he thinks, or vomit. He is not strong enough for this, cannot survive it another moment. And yet he's too afraid to leave her side, too utterly panicked to move.

The ambulance's siren sounds like a wailing cry in the distance, as if the world is already mourning with him for a loss which is still yet to occur.

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Feedback is always appreciated! (And I'm sure you want to yell at me now. ;p)


	64. Chapter 64

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

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Chapter Sixty-Four

It feels as though it takes forever to get to the hospital, the world proceeding in slow motion even after the ambulance has arrived. Chase loses track of what is actually happening, everything seeming to blur. In the ambulance the paramedics are talking, rapid-fire back and forth, but they might as well be speaking a different language. Chase recognizes the familiar rhythm of a code, has been in charge countless times in the past. But now he feels helpless, swept away and buffeted about in the raging tide of this night.

By the time he finds himself seated in the surgical waiting room, he cannot remember how he's gotten there, cannot even recall whether he's managed to say anything to Cameron before she was taken into the OR. She is still unconscious, of course, but he feels a wave of guilt nonetheless. He knows no one can say whether he will ever again see her awake, or even alive. Chase does remember being denied entry to the observation deck, and Foreman's promise to scrub in and watch over the surgery in his place. Being trained as an intensivist is both a blessing and a curse now; he knows all too well how great the risk is that she will not survive the surgery.

He cannot help feeling that this is in some way his fault, at the very least by oversight. He should have seen this coming, he thinks, should have done something to prevent it. Rationally he knows it is impossible to say what exactly has caused this, but it seems that they have ignored the potential warning signs nonetheless, that Cameron should have taken medical leave from the moment she'd had her first miscarriage scare. It feels as though he has somehow doomed her simply by being in her life, by thinking that they could be happy again. It's been a long time since he has allowed himself to believe in fate, in karma, in direct punishment by God or the universe. And yet now it seems as though his nightmares have risen to smite him, the lines between subconscious and reality blurring, the crimes in his past finally costing him everything. Cameron would consider this fear foolishly irrational, he knows, would dismiss it out of kind, without a thought. But now she is dying, the too-familiar rush of emergency surgery playing out in Chase's mind as real as if he were in the OR with her. Only tonight he is left to simply wait, alone.

He can't say how much time has passed when Foreman appears in the doorway of the waiting room. Chase still feels detached, surreal, hearing none of the late-night hospital bustle around him. He feels as though he might be standing outside of himself, as though he might be the one experiencing near-death. He would not be able to get to his feet now if he tried, and he is fearfully grateful when Foreman comes over to where he is seated.

"What's going on?" Chase manages, feeling suddenly as though he might pass out. Foreman's presence here means that at least the first part of the wait is over; he is about to get an answer of some sort, and suddenly he is not sure he's strong enough to take it.

"The surgery's not finished," says Foreman, too quickly. He is still in scrubs, the smell of disinfectant seeming to hang in the air about his person. The skin of his face glistens with sweat. "We need you to stay calm right now."

"What _happened_?" Chase repeats, his voice rising in spite of Foreman's warning. There is no way he can remain calm now, no way he can keep the panic at bay. He has had too many conversations like this with patients in the past, recognizes in the sound of Foreman's voice that this is not going to be good news. He remembers Cameron's last conscious words, her request that he put their baby's life and safety above her own should it come to that. For one panic-stricken moment, he thinks Foreman is about to ask him to make that decision, and feels without a doubt that he is not strong enough to condemn either one of them. To give up on any kind of a future. His throat is terribly dry, his heart pounding painfully in his chest, and he feels the familiar overwhelming urge to drink, to have the edge taken off his emotions, the clarity blunted from his thoughts.

"Cameron had a very serious placental abruption," Foreman answers carefully. "Cause undetermined. Your daughter was delivered by emergency c-section, and is being taken to NICU for further assessment."

"Is she all right?" Chase asks, unsure which of them he is asking about, suddenly desperate for any kind of information, the spell of stillness broken.

"She's a couple weeks premature," says Foreman, "which you know. She was a little hypoxic at birth, from the placental blood loss. NICU will have to run more tests before we can say for sure, but I don't think there will be any permanent damage."

"And Allison?" Chase cannot feel relief for the baby's life; instead he feels strangely numb now, the anxiety brewing sickly in his gut. That Foreman has not given a full report without prompting further convinces him that something is still very wrong.

"She crashed during the surgery," answers Foreman at last, not meeting his eyes. "Hypovolemic shock. The surgeon was able to restart her heart, but has not been able to successfully control the bleeding. She's had four units of blood, and she's still hemorrhaging faster than we can transfuse. We need your consent for an emergency hysterectomy."

"No!" Chase blurts, reeling, unable to take in everything Foreman has just said. That Cameron has suffered one cardiac arrest confirms his fears that the blood loss is devastating, may already have dealt permanent damage to her body. Further surgery will be putting her life at risk, and could very well kill her. Yet he knows that if the bleeding cannot be stopped, she will certainly die in the next few hours. Most importantly, he knows how crucial having a family is to her, how long she has wanted children. And though they now have Abigail's miraculous presence in their life, he feels utterly unworthy of making a decision that will so profoundly impact her future.

"We need you to make a decision," Foreman says firmly. "There's not a lot of time. She's stable for the moment, but you know how quickly that could change. We may not get another chance at this."

"I can't—do that to her." Chase swipes a hand across his eyes, a fresh round of tears stinging his eyes as his head pounds. But he's scarcely even aware of his own feelings, the terrible weight of this decision masking everything else. Medically he knows that it should not even be a question; attempting an emergency hysterectomy is the last hope of stopping the bleeding and saving her life before shock destroys her organ function, her brain, her life. Yet he still feels paralyzed, unable to simply agree, as though being in this position might somehow change the facts of the situation. If he authorizes the surgery and she dies on the table, it will be his fault, another blood-stained murder spilled on his conscience.

"It's what she needs," Foreman presses. "You know that, Chase. If it were any other patient, you'd be the one trying to convince the family to give consent."

"But I'm not—She left me," he says, practically choking on the words. "I already ruined her life once. I can't do that again. I shouldn't be the one making this decision for her."

"You're her medical proxy," says Foreman, placing a hand firmly on Chase's arm. "I saw the document. She designated you just after her first miscarriage scare. She wanted _you_ making these decisions. Now you have to come through for her."

"She told me—to put our baby's life before hers, if it came to that," Chase manages, tasting the bitterness of his own tears. "I don't know what she'd want me to do now. I can't—_kill_ her."

"Your daughter is safe," says Foreman. "You got help in time. You need to make the decision to try to save Allison's life."

"More surgery could kill her." Chase scrubs his hands over his face again, trying desperately to think clearly, to find some measure of objectivity in this impossible situation. It feels as though his entire world might be ending. "If we do nothing, there's a chance the bleeding could stop on its own."

"No surgery could kill her too," Foreman insists. "You know that. And even if the bleeding does stop on its own, she's already had one cardiac arrest. She could have multiple organ system failure before we get her BP stabilized. She could have brain damage. It's a gamble either way. So you have to tell me. Do we try the surgery, or wait to see if the bleeding stops?"

Leaning forward, Chase rests his head in his hands, pressing his knuckles against his eyelids until he sees stars in the darkness. He wishes intensely that House were here now, to tell him in no uncertain terms what it is that he should do. And then, in this moment, he knows what House would have chosen, would have told him is the only viable option.

"Do the surgery," he whispers, not looking up as he listens to Foreman's retreating footfalls, hurrying back to the OR.

The next stretch of time passes in nightmarish blackness. Chase keeps his eyes closed, too afraid even to see the world around him. He tries to focus on the solidness of the chair beneath him, of his own weight. Yet he feels lost already, completely unable to function, worse than the panic just after Dibala's death, more agonizing than the hell of withdrawal. Time becomes even more amorphous, at once rushing by around him and slowed to a halt. He feels as though he is existing in a vacuum, save for the fear and grief which envelope him.

"Chase." It's Wilson's voice that finally shatters his thoughts, forcing him back to the present moment.

Taking a breath, Chase makes himself look up.

"How are you doing?" Wilson takes a seat in the chair next to Chase's, meeting his eyes with a look filled with unsettling empathy. He knows Wilson is used to giving bad news, can easily imagine that he has been sent here to deliver the worst.

"What do you think?" Chase snaps, aware that he is being unnecessarily rude, but too exhausted to feel guilt over that.

"I imagine you're feeling overwhelmed right now," says Wilson kindly. "And devastated."

"You come here to be my therapist?" Chase rakes a hand through his hair.

"No." Wilson sighs. "I wanted to tell you that the surgery is finished."

"And?" asks Chase, tasting bile at the back of his throat. He wills himself to remain conscious, to hear the news of what has happened.

But Wilson simply shakes his head. "They're going to keep her in recovery for a while, and then transfer her to the ICU. The bleeding is stopped, but she hasn't regained consciousness. I'm sure you know that infection and neurological damage are both major concerns. Only time will tell."

Chase exhales weakly. He ought to feel some degree of relief at this, he thinks, but all he is aware of is fear for the future. He knows too well what Wilson isn't saying. That Cameron has survived the surgery is a miracle in itself, but it remains to be seen whether she will regain consciousness at all. And how bad the damage to her body might be.

"Can I see her?" he asks at last.

"Not yet," says Wilson apologetically. "It'll be a few hours still."

"Then why're you still here?" Chase snaps, temper flaring again. He feels saturated with adrenaline, on the verge of total breakdown.

"I just wanted to offer you support," says Wilson. "I know how hard this must be for you."

"I don't need your pity," Chase retorts, before remembering the awful pain of watching Wilson struggle to cope with Amber's death. But that memory in itself is threatening: that Wilson is comparing these circumstances further reinforces the true horror of this night. "Sorry. I'm not—very good at talking."

Wilson takes a slow breath, then nods. "You should go see your daughter. She's doing really well, considering."

"I can't," Chase answers reflexively, the possibility of raising Abigail on his own suddenly terrifying. He is afraid even to love her after the ordeal of this night, in the uncertain circumstances of Cameron's fragile recovery. Everything he has allowed himself to love, to hope for, has nearly been snatched away from him, could be taken still.

"She needs you," Wilson coaxes quietly. "And I think Allison would want you to be there since she can't."

This is true, Chase realizes, and he knows he cannot deny that wish, even in the face of his enormous fears. Nodding, he gets to his feet slowly, holding onto the chair for support. The room spins for a moment, but then stabilizes. Determined now, he focuses on taking one step, and then another.

The inside of NICU feels unnaturally quiet and still. Chase is painfully aware of the staff's eyes on him; he knows most of them from filling shifts here in the past. They must all have heard what has happened. This is how news travels in the hospital.

But when he lays sight on Abigail, everything else seems to vanish, lost in the blue of her eyes. In this instant, he feels a surge of absolute love like nothing he has ever experienced before, the past and future seeming to fall away. He knows without question that he will dedicate his heart and soul to her happiness, regardless of what might yet happen.

"Hello, Abigail," he whispers, the sound of his own voice nearly alien in his ears. "I've been waiting to meet you."

Holding his breath Chase reaches toward her, tears blurring his vision again when her tiny fist closes tightly around his finger.

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Reviews are always appreciated! Only a few chapters left now!


	65. Chapter 65

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTE: I've started writing up some end notes/commentary on this fic which will be posted before the epilogue. (Don't worry, that's still three chapters away.) I just wanted to mention this and let you know that if you have any questions, or anything you'd like me to talk about regarding the writing of this fic, you should tell me in the next few chapters so that I can address them in my commentary. I don't mean to sound pretentious about this at all - it's more a way of documenting this whole thing for myself, but I'd love for you all to be a part of it as well. :)

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Chapter Sixty-Five

The Diagnostics office is empty, the world outside its windows cloaked in the darkness of pre-dawn. Inside, nearly all the furniture is gone, save for House's desk, and cobwebs rest amongst the shadows in the corners.

Chase isn't certain how he's found himself standing in the doorway, like so many other moments recently. Life seems to be rushing by around him, too fast to follow. His own existence might as well be in another dimension: motion in the plane of grief.

He feels so weak with exhaustion that he can barely stay standing, leaning his weight on the doorframe for a moment before realizing that he must continue forward. He cannot say what exactly his goal is, only that it compels him on. It takes gargantuan effort to take a step, and he focuses on this task: one foot in front of the other, then repeat.

It isn't until the light in the inner office catches his eye that he realizes it is what's been drawing him forward, a flicker of life in this place which has become barren and still as a graveyard. Chase catches his breath as he steps through the second doorway and sees House, seated as usual in front of his old television, the antennas extended and the ending credits of General Hospital rolling.

"You're dead," says Chase, listening to the sound of his voice echoing off the empty walls.

"Yep," House answers casually, as if this might be the most natural conversation in the world. "Just your resident ghost. Or maybe your conscience."

"That's ironic," says Chase, feeling suddenly like laughing. "You being anyone's conscience."

House shrugs. "At least you're not drunk this time. Actually, I'm surprised."

"What?" asks Chase, defenses flaring instinctively. He's aware of House's implications, but wants to hear it spelled out regardless. "You're _surprised_ that I didn't run off and drink while my wife is dying? That I didn't abandon my daughter?"

"Six months ago you would have," says House, picking up his cane and using the end of it to turn off the television, plunging the room once more into silence. "Also, you called her your wife."

"Force of habit?" Chase suggests, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He's rebuked Foreman for making this mistake numerous times in the past, but today the word has fallen from his lips without a thought. More importantly, the fear he's felt at the sound of it is suddenly absent, paling in comparison to his terror at the likely prospect of her death.

"No it isn't," says House. "You correct other people when they say that. You've changed." He makes a face to punctuate that statement, a semi-gruesome parody of pride. "God, you're going to make me get all sappy."

"Save yourself the trouble," snaps Chase, suddenly incredibly irritated. "Just make your point. Why're you here?"

"That was my point," says House, looking equally annoyed. "Only you ruined my dramatic timing."

"Sorry," says Chase dryly. He is beginning to feel inexplicably better, the strange familiarity of this conversation allowing the exhaustion and panic to drop away from his body. Whatever happens now, it seems somehow as if he knows it will be all right.

House gets to his feet. "Don't go back. Don't let this scare you into pushing her away again. If you do—you really _don't_ deserve to be happy."

Chase wakes with a start, feeling disoriented. The dream has been so vivid that he half expects to find himself in the Diagnostics office in reality. But after a moment, he realizes that his cheek is resting against a wrinkled white sheet; he's fallen asleep at Cameron's bedside, the aftertaste of prayer thick on his lips.

With a start, he scrambles to sit up, feeling instantly guilty for having succumbed to exhaustion when he's come here to watch over her. But what he sees leaves him frozen in momentary shock: Cameron is awake now, watching him with an expression of silent concern.

"Oh god," whispers Chase, swallowing thickly. His throat is raw from crying, his eyes sandy and sore. But he moves with new purpose now, buoyed by a fresh wave of adrenaline at seeing her conscious. "You're awake."

"And you fell asleep," says Cameron, the lightness in her voice surprising him. She sounds far too lucid to have just regained consciousness, calm as she had been before the ambulance had arrived, almost amused by the situation.

"I have to get a nurse," Chase stammers, fighting a wave of dizziness as he gets to his feet too quickly. "They need to know that you're—"

"They know," Cameron interrupts, catching his hand. "They were here already. I told them not to wake you."

"What?" Chase freezes, allowing himself to look at her in earnest for the first time. He has spent the past night in crisis, in acceptance of further tragedy to come. To be met instead with such a simple miracle is disorienting; he scarcely trusts himself to be perceiving reality now.

"Babe, sit down," Cameron coaxes, waiting until he's done so to continue. "You've been asleep for a while. Wilson and Cuddy were here about an hour ago."

"Then—they told you about the surgery?" asks Chase, feeling breathless with panic again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He hasn't questioned his decision to authorize the hysterectomy since making it, but now he is terrified of her reaction. To lose her in anger after everything would be utterly devastating.

But she only shakes her head, reaching out to touch his hand again. "You don't have to apologize. I know you saved my life."

"You almost died," Chase whispers, closing his eyes against vivid flashbacks of the previous night. He feels as though he can still smell the metallic odor of her blood soaking their sheets. He realizes now that he has spent the past few hours in certainty of her death, accepted it as fully as if it had already happened. To have her alert and smiling now leaves him reeling; he feels too full of residual grief still to be truly happy.

"Hey," says Cameron softly, shattering the horrific procession of memories. "Come here."

For a moment Chase regards her in silence, struggling to process the reality of what she's just said. It feels hard to accept, that even in the aftermath of such a trauma, she could be concerned with offering him comfort. He feels a brief stab of guilt over this, twisting in the pit of his stomach. But then he remembers House's words in his dream. Cameron has always been most comforted by her ability to care for others, he thinks. And moreoever, he's absolutely certain he would now share her feelings were their positions reversed. Slowly, carefully, Chase pulls his legs up onto the bed and settles against her side, making certain not to hurt her.

"Wilson said that you went to go see Abby." Cameron shifts against the pillows, wrapping her arm around his shoulders.

"I did." Chase swallows, feeling his throat tighten again at the memory of tiny fingers clinging to his hand. "She's—perfect."

"I'm glad," whispers Cameron, sounding truly emotional for the first time since regaining consciousness. "I was so afraid she wouldn't make it. I shouldn't have kept working. Not after—everything."

"She's doing great," Chase says quickly. "Really healthy. And we can't know what caused this. Don't blame yourself. You've been anything but irresponsible." He's spent the last few agonizing hours feeling himself to blame for the fact that this has happened, for not trying to dissuade her from working. Yet now hearing the words from her lips, he realizes how irrational and unfounded they are.

"I want to see her," says Cameron, her voice firmer now, more purposeful. She is not going to dwell on blame right now, Chase thinks, and decides not to push the subject for the moment. He knows too well the persistence of guilt, and the last thing he wants is to upset her further.

"Do you want me to go see if they'll let me bring her down?" asks Chase, starting to sit up. But Cameron catches his arm with surprising strength and speed.

"Wait," she says quickly, her eyes filled with anxiety now. "Please don't go anywhere."

"Okay," Chase soothes, settling again. He feels strangely brittle now in the aftermath of crisis, in control for the moment, but liable to break again at the smallest provocation. He cannot even imagine how she must be feeling. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere you don't want me to."

"I just—don't want to be alone right now." Cameron swallows visibly, not meeting his eyes.

"I talked to your parents," says Chase after a moment, suddenly remembering. The events of the previous night have blurred dream into reality, but this he knows for certain actually happened. He can still hear the panicked edge in their voices as he thinks about making the call, the sick dread churning his stomach as he'd told them their daughter might be unable to recover from surgery. He is all too aware that they still harbor nothing but animosity toward him, that they blame him for all the tragedy. But now he feels secure in this relationship, in the knowledge that what he's doing is what Cameron needs and wants. He has the strength now to withstand the doubt, to take the time necessary to regain their trust if he can.

"You did?" Cameron tenses noticeably, her breathing quickening at the mere mention. "What did they say?"

"They were getting on the first plane they could," says Chase, feeling guilty for further upsetting her right now. Still, she needs this visit, he suspects, this chance for closure stressful as it may be. "They should be here in a few hours."

"They're coming?" asks Cameron, sounding surprised. That this is difficult for her to believe is heartbreaking to Chase; he remembers being envious of her family that Christmas in Chicago, stinging bitterness for his own absent parents at seeing their joy together. The thought that he has had any role in the ruin of that bond pains him terribly.

"Of course they are," Chase answers, leaning up to kiss her temple. "They love you. They're really worried. And they want to meet their granddaughter."

"Thank you," Cameron whispers, turning her face into his shoulder. He cannot tell whether she's crying, her breath hitching softly. Carefully, Chase wraps his arms around her, feeling himself start to relax for the first time since waking to find himself in this real-life nightmare.

"Happy Valentine's day," he murmurs against her hair. Scared as he's been, he has the sudden overwhelming urge to make some grand gesture of love for her. But that will have to wait for a later day. At the moment he cannot imagine leaving her side for anything.

"You too," says Cameron, her voice muffled against his neck. "It's sort of an anniversary, you know."

"I remember." Chase smiles, relaxing further. "And now it's our daughter's birthday."

Cameron nods into his shoulder, making a soft noise. For a long time, they stay in silence; Chase takes comfort in the simple sound of her breathing, and the scent of her hair. He cannot allow himself to feel fully relieved yet, knows that may still be weeks to come. But he is certain now that she is not going to die, or be severely brain damaged, that their baby too is safe. That Cameron so completely and thoughtlessly trusts him to take care of her now is overwhelming, a true testament to the hard-won healing of the past year. He has nearly drifted off to sleep again when a light knock on the door brings him back to consciousness.

"Can we come in?" asks Cuddy from the doorway.

It takes Chase a moment to realize that she has the baby in her arms, almost as if she's read his mind. He nods immediately. "Please."

"I thought you could use a visit," says Cuddy, laying Abigail in Cameron's arms.

Cameron is silent for a long moment, tears streaming down her cheeks. Abigail nestles against her chest, instinct still more powerful than any sort of medical emergency. Watching them, Chase feels his breath catch in his throat, the full realization that the nightmare is over now.

_This_ is his family, he thinks, the miracle he's always wanted and scarcely dared hope for. They are truly together now in spite of the past, his fears, all the obstacles along the way. For this precious moment, it is enough.

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Reviews are always appreciated! (Now you have to tell me that you still love me after those last few chapters. Or I guess if you somehow still wanted to kill me, you could tell me that too. ;p)


	66. Chapter 66

TITLE: The Rest is Silence (66/69)

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

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Chapter Sixty-Six

Chase has been back in the condo for scarcely a quarter of an hour when Foreman's knock comes at the door. If he's honest with himself, he's grateful for the distraction. It's been almost three weeks since he's spent any length of time here unoccupied, as much out of his own fear as reluctance to leave Cameron's side while she's been in the hospital. Now he feels the urge to air the whole place out, to fill it with spring light to drive away the shadows, and some of the memories as well.

"I hope you know that you owe me big for this one," says Foreman good-naturedly when Chase opens the door. He's standing in the hall with a handcart full of plants, a rainbow of flowers from delicate pink to deep purple.

"I know," says Chase, smiling. He's spent the past few weeks thinking about how to make this day special for Cameron. He knows her love of all things floral, has witnessed in the past her excitement over spring planting. It's still too cold for that, and she is weeks away from any kind of exertion besides. Still, he's determined to fill the place with flowers, for her, to make the sort of display he was unable to on Valentine's day. A silent apology for all the times he has been too afraid to act on his emotions, to show her how he truly feels.

"I'll help you look through personnel files in return," Chase continues, stepping back to let Foreman into the condo, and beginning to unload the cart. "Although I've got a feeling we'll be uneven again after that. You're gonna owe me. Especially if I help with the interviews, too."

"Come on," says Foreman, setting two pots of lilies down on the coffee table. "Hiring's not that bad. We're just biased because we spent so long listening to House complain about what torture it was for him."

"Says the man who's never actually done it before," teases Chase. "House hated it. I trust him." It's a relief to talk about work with Foreman after watching him struggle to cope with the aftermath of Thirteen's death. Foreman seems to be emerging from his grief slowly but surely, better than Chase has ever imagined would be possible only two short months later. The difficult times linger Chase is aware, but now it feels good to discuss something routine, easy.

"Good god, Chase." Foreman scoffs, throwing up his hands. "The man is dead and you're _still_ sucking up to him."

"Not sucking up," says Chase goofily, feeling giddy over this day, this conversation. "Taking advantage of his shared wisdom."

"Hey, I'm just glad the Board's giving us the money to hire new fellows." With the cart entirely emptied, Foreman pauses to survey the condo, the array of potted plants spread across the counter and table. "I've been slammed with the two of you gone. And it was bad enough before that."

"Fifty bucks you'll change your mind after we interview a few idiots," says Chase, glancing around the living room as well. Now that the flowers are in here, he isn't entirely sure how to arrange them. Aesthetics have never been his strong suit, and he finds himself remembering watching Cameron decorate this place, how it had all seemed so simple and natural to her. It had felt like a special sort of intimacy, being allowed to see that side of her for the first time.

"I'll take that bet," says Foreman, sounding reassuringly confident, almost like they might be standing in the past, like House might show up at any moment to interrupt, or weigh in on their conversation. After a moment, he shakes himself, as though feeling the same sense of sudden déjà vu. "So, how long do we have to demonstrate your decorating incompetence before Cameron comes home?"

"I told her I'd pick her up from the hospital in a couple of hours," says Chase, running a hand through his hair. "She's saying goodbye to her parents right now. They're flying back to Chicago this afternoon." If he's honest with himself, he's slightly nervous about her homecoming, about his ability to suitably impress her, and to help care for the baby while she finishes recovering.

"Survived the visit with the in-laws, then?" asks Foreman, raising his eyebrows. Kneeling, he begins to organize the pots on the coffee table by plant height and color, ever the perfectionist. Chase hasn't been to Foreman's apartment in years, but he still imagines every item in it being sorted and alphabetized.

"Barely," answers Chase, no longer bothering to correct the wording. He and Cameron aren't married, aren't even engaged. In truth, he isn't sure how to define their relationship anymore, except that he knows beyond a doubt they are family, partners in whatever that means. Fighting it isn't worth the energy anymore; he's seen how fragile life can be. His anxiety now centers around losing himself to the fear again, letting happiness pass him by, forever unattainable.

"That bad?" asks Foreman. Picking up a pot of red tulips, he makes his way over to the bookshelf and deposits the plant on top, taking the time to make sure it's perfectly centered.

"Well, let's see." Chase grabs a couple plants of his own, placing them on top of the speakers flanking the television. "I pursued their daughter for three years, married her, and then upset her enough to make her divorce me. Then, after they'd helped her put the pieces of her life back together, she came back here, and I got her pregnant. Naturally, they love me right now."

Foreman is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment, regarding him with a look Chase can't quite read. "I think it's good," he says, at last. "You can see things from their perspective now. Are they going to visit again?"

"I don't know," says Chase honestly. "Allison really liked having them here. I was thinking—It's a long way off, but maybe we could go there for the holidays again." Everything in his life now feels like a slow work in progress. It still upsets him, knowing how Cameron's parents feel, how his presence in her life has influenced her relationship with them. But running away no longer seems like an option; all he can do going forward is try to be better, to make up for the hurt he's caused in the past.

"Come on," says Foreman. "We'd better get working, or she's going to think you tried to turn this place into a jungle."

—

Cameron is filled with a strange sense of anxiety as she watches Chase drive home, her stomach fluttering with equal parts fear and anticipation. The past three weeks have passed in a haze of painkillers and emotions, so that it's felt like the outside world might have stood still. Looking out the window now, seeing how the seasons have changed in her absence is shocking, like she's somehow temporarily fallen into another world.

Seeing her parents again after so long has been a salient reminder of just how much has changed since she left Chicago, since hastily making the decision to move back to Princeton permanently. It is the biggest leap of faith she has ever taken, she realizes, though it hadn't seemed that way at the time. And while the fledgling truce she's drawn with them remains fragile still, she thinks they are beginning to see why this path is the right one for her to have chosen. It is an immense relief knowing that they will support her in parenthood at the very least, that they are no longer cut off by a towering wall of lies and resentment. That they still seem unable to trust Chase in the slightest is painful to her, but also understandable, and she feels a silent swell of pride at how well he's reacted to their scrutiny.

She is anxious still about the effect this whole ordeal will have on him. He's been coping admirably well so far, at least to the point that she can tell. Still, it's been weeks since she's had any real kind of privacy to ask him, and she isn't sure he would admit to any kind of weakness right now besides. Cameron knows from the trauma she has experienced herself that this must be impossibly hard on him, both because he's had to be the one responsible, the one keeping it together in crisis, and because of the old wounds from which he's still struggling to recover. In her heart she trusts him implicitly to help her and Abigail through the adjustment of coming home, beginning their life together as a family. And yet the rational part of her still worries about how much she's asking him to endure, the terrible cost now were he to lose control and relapse again.

"Ready?" asks Chase, parking the car.

Cameron shakes herself, having scarcely realized that they have made it all the way home amidst the silence of her racing thoughts. Biting her lip, she nods, and turns to unbuckle Abigail, who has fallen asleep in her carseat. Pulling on his coat, Chase comes around the side of the car, smiling as he takes the baby. He has always been good with children, Cameron remembers, more natural than she has ever felt. She still worries about her own parenting skills, especially now in the aftermath of surgery. Her love for Abigail is absolute, all-encompassing, the most intense emotion she can ever remember feeling. Yet it remains accompanied by uncertainty, insecurity, the irrational fear that this miracle will somehow be snatched away from her again despite all that she's done. Her life is changed irrevocably, and while that revelation fills her with joy, there is also still the looming specter of the unknown.

"Do you need help?" asks Chase, the baby settled effortlessly in his arms, having barely stirred from her nap.

Cameron shakes her head, reluctant to give him anything else to focus on. "No. I'm fine. You know I'm supposed to be walking as much as I can anyway. Stimulate blood flow." She climbs out of the car slowly, distrusting the strength of her body. She is still struggling to accept the fact that something so catastrophic could happen without warning, despite all of the precautions she's taken. Though she's seen it time and again in patients she's treated, having personal experience makes her question everything she's taken for granted.

Walking up to the door of the condo, she catches her breath, momentarily overwhelmed with dread. She has no memory of the ambulance, of anything after waking up covered in blood. Still, she does remember the terror, the certainty that everything had been lost. But then Chase opens the door, and her heart leaps into her throat at the sight of the living room filled with a breathtaking array of delicate flowers. For a moment she can only stand staring in blissful shock; then, in a rush, she turns and kisses Chase, feeling like a veil of uncertainty has lifted. Not only has he come through in every way imaginable to support her recovery from surgery, he has taken the time to prepare for her this display of devotion. A mere month ago, this would have been too much for him, she thinks, remembering his fear over seeing her wedding ring unearthed from its grave at the bottom of a dresser drawer.

"Thank you," she whispers, swallowing a sudden wave of tears. "It's beautiful."

"I love you," answers Chase, bending to kiss her temple. "I'm so happy to have the two of you home."

Resting her hand against Abigail's back, Cameron feels a momentary wave of sadness at the fact that she cannot yet carry her own baby into their home. This moment is all poignancy, as everything in her life seems to be lately, a thousand wayward happy memories overlaid by new ones still yet to come, and this moment of silent transition in between.

"We should get inside," says Chase quietly, bringing her back to the present again. "I want to introduce Abby to her nursery."

"Did you finish it?" asks Cameron, realizing yet again just how many of their plans have been cut short with her time in the hospital.

"Yeah," says Chase, grinning. He seems somehow radiant in the dappled light of afternoon, intangibly more complete than she's seen him in a long time. "Come on. I've got a lot to show you."

* * *

Reviews are always appreciated! And holy crap, I can't believe I'm so close to a thousand! Seriously, this whole thing has been surreal. There are three updates left after this including the epilogue, but I just wanted to say thank you, again, for your overwhelming support.


	67. Chapter 67

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

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Chapter Sixty-Seven

The first week of April is wet and gray. For days at a time, it rains, the weak light of the sun constantly obscured by clouds. It isn't the drama or power of the sort of storm which makes being indoors seem comfortable and cozy. Rather, it feels as though the sky is too low, looming oppressively on the horizon, as if the whole world might be coming down in a fog.

The excitement of being home wears off after scarcely a few days, and Cameron feels a growing frustration over her inability to take care of herself or her child. Chase has been nothing but attentive, yet she finds herself resenting him in his independence, his health, though the very idea makes her ache with guilt. A week after leaving the hospital, she is still unable to walk more than a brief distance without needing to stop in exhaustion, restricted from lifting Abigail out of her crib for fear of pulling stitches or suffering another bleed. Chase has taken to sleeping on the floor of the nursery at night so he can care for the baby without waking Cameron up every few hours, and though she appreciates the sacrifices he's making for her recovery, she feels helpless and lonely amidst the muted light of the rain-fogged world outside the windows. The worst part is the feeling that she ought to be happy, that the life she has always wanted is now here, and passing by just out of her grasp.

She's lost track of the days when Chase's light knock comes on the bedroom door, surprising her. It isn't that his visits are so infrequent; he still spends most of her waking hours with her, but he isn't usually so formal about it.

"What's going on?" asks Cameron, the moment he sticks his head in the door. He looks utterly exhausted as he always does lately, and she feels a momentary tug of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. Were this all to prove too much for him now, the consequences would be unthinkable, and as much as she is jealous of his current responsibilities, she also fears for his wellbeing.

"Cuddy and Wilson are here," says Chase, hesitating. "They wanted to stop by and give you something. I wasn't sure if you'd be up to a visit."

"Right now?" asks Cameron, feeling blindsided. She has been in bed all morning, hasn't even really gotten dressed in days. And while she appreciates the sentiment that they are here to offer their support, in this moment all she feels is shame for her failure to adapt to the new circumstances of her life.

"Yeah," says Chase, looking chagrined. "Sorry. I know it's short notice. They didn't tell me anything ahead of time."

"It's not your fault," Cameron answers, feeling bad for upsetting him in any way. The last thing he needs right now is more pressure, more stress in an already-impossible situation.

"Come on," Chase coaxes gently, his focus shifting back to the situation at hand. "They said they couldn't stay long. You could just—put on a robe or something. Come say hello for a minute. I'm sure they'll understand. Remember how stressed Cuddy was when she first brought Rachel home?"

Biting her lip, Cameron nods, feeling as though she has no choice. Hiding from them now seems like admitting defeat, and the last thing she wants is for the world to know that she has thus far failed to feel the joy she ought to in the aftermath of Abigail's birth. She will have to go back to the outside world eventually; the longer she delays it, the more stressful it will be when the time does come. Sitting up slowly, she watches Chase take her bathrobe from its hanger. Carefully, he helps wrap it around her body, then slips his arms around her waist, kissing her forehead.

"Thank you," Cameron says softly.

Cuddy and Wilson are seated at opposite ends of the couch in the living room, a very large gift bag resting on the table. Cuddy has Abigail in her arms, the huge smile on her face making her look much softer than usual. She is a mother right now, the sharp instincts that make her a good hospital administrator banished to the background. Cameron makes her way over to the recliner, managing to nod at them by way of greeting. Chase remains standing, as though watching over the room. Cameron feels a strange tension; their roles have all shifted once more, and she is not yet sure where the boundaries of these evolving relationships now lie.

"Sorry to drop by unannounced," says Wilson, clearing his throat. "I had a cancellation this afternoon, so I thought I'd come by and see how you were doing."

"That's nice of you," says Cameron, making sure to keep her voice deceptively light. "We're really happy to have Abby home."

"She's beautiful," says Cuddy, speaking up for the first time.

Cameron smiles in response, but the entire conversation feels artificial. A façade designed to protect the reality which is so much less attractive. They have all been through so much in the past year, and that knowledge leaves her burning with resentment for the world. It seems as though she ought to have earned the right to simply be happy by now, though rationally she knows that is never how it really works. Still, she feels she has already expended all of her determination, all of the strength she might once have had to be patient with the slow healing of her body, the agonizing return to normalcy.

"Well," says Wilson, leaning forward on the couch as the silence grows uncomfortable again. "We can't stay long. I just wanted to wish you a speedy recovery. And give you this." Retrieving the gift bag, he passes it across the table to Cameron.

Inside are several sheets of brightly colored tissue paper, clashing horribly with the stripes on the outside of the bag. Pulling them aside reveals a fuzzy yellow head, and Cameron recognizes immediately what this is. Stripping away the bag and the rest of the paper, she is left holding a large pillowy stuffed duck, identical to the one she's seen in Rachel's room when visiting Cuddy. Suddenly she cannot help but laugh, the sensation bubbling up in the back of her throat with surprising intensity. This duck is utterly ridiculous, much too large to be of any use to the baby for at least several years. And yet, strangely, it seems to drive the reality of this situation home, if only for a moment. This is a gift being given to her daughter. They have all made it far enough to experience this day, the sort of occasion she'd once only dreamed of.

"He told me Rachel would grow into hers when he gave it to me," says Cuddy, smiling at Cameron's reaction. "I'm not so sure that's happened yet."

"I'm sure Abby would enjoy falling asleep on it," says Chase lightly. He inclines his head toward the baby, who is already nodding off on Cuddy's shoulder. "In fact, that seems to be her favorite hobby so far."

"How are you doing?" asks Cuddy, her tone turning more serious again.

Cameron steels herself inwardly against this shift in tension; the concern is being directed back at her, the moment of normalcy she'd experienced in opening the gift vanished just that quickly. She settles the duck on her lap instinctively, almost as though it might function as some sort of shield. A symbol of elusive happiness to counteract the grayness seeping in from outside.

"I know it can be hard," Cuddy continues, when she hasn't answered. "God knows I was a wreck when Rachel came home, and I wasn't recovering from surgery."

Cameron hesitates for a long moment before answering. If anyone in her life would be able to understand the way she is feeling now, it would be Cuddy. And yet, she still feels unable to speak the words aloud, in part because Wilson and Chase are present in the room, and also because hearing them echoed back would require admitting this defeat wholly to herself. These are not things she is ready for yet.

"I'm fine," Cameron answers, reading the doubts in Cuddy's eyes, the knowledge that these words cannot be taken at face value. "We're doing really well. Abby and I are lucky to have Robert here. He's great with her."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," says Cuddy, smiling sadly.

Cameron is reminded suddenly of the disapproval they'd faced when her pregnancy had first been discovered by Cuddy and the rest of the hospital, how they'd all taken it for granted that Chase would fail her. But he has been steadfast, devoted, overcome a multitude of inner demons for the sake of their family.

"All right," says Wilson, breaking the silence that has fallen yet again. He gets to his feet. "I have a patient coming in half an hour. We'd better get back to the hospital."

"I'll walk you out," says Chase, taking Abigail from Cuddy so she can stand as well. "Thanks for stopping by. And thanks for the—gift."

Cameron sinks down into the recliner as soon as they are out of sight in the front hallway, though they are still well within earshot. She feels simultaneously drained and on edge even from such a brief and simple contact. Her hands are shaking, and she shifts the stuffed duck off of her lap, hugging herself.

"Foreman is starting his interview process tomorrow," says Cuddy, in the hallway.

"I heard," says Chase. "I've looked over some of the files. Looks like we've got a lot of good candidates."

"We do," Cuddy answers, sounding pleased. "The three of you have really done a commendable job with the department this year."

"I'm hoping to be back in a few weeks," says Chase, and Cameron feels her stomach tighten in surprise. Of course he will be going back to work first, but in the chaos of the past few weeks, they have not yet discussed the matter at all.

"Take all the time you need," says Cuddy.

After that, Cameron hears nothing at all until the door closes. Her thoughts have begun to race once more; she feels chilled even in the warmth of the living room. Until this moment, she has been unable to think much beyond the scope of her own recovery. She has spent so long wishing for the simplest things—health, survival—that now she feels caught off-guard by her own worst fear. She has known all along that giving up her career is not an option. Much as she has longed for a family, as completely as she now loves her daughter, she also knows that her life could never be complete were she to give up practicing medicine. Throughout her pregnancy she has comforted herself with the rationalization that there was still plenty of time left to figure out some sort of compromise. But now they are out of time, and she has somehow failed to come up with any kind of solution.

"What's wrong?" asks Chase, pausing in the doorway of the living room, on his way back from putting Abigail back in her crib.

"You're going back to work?" asks Cameron, her voice sounding too loud in her ears. Some part of her feels that she is being ridiculous in her panic; they have overcome so much already, this seems too simple a problem to ruin things now. And yet her heart is pounding, her mouth dry. "We haven't—talked about that."

"I'm not going back right now," says Chase soothingly. "I was just thinking—soon. In a few weeks. When you're ready to be on your own during the day. I wouldn't go before that."

"So you're figuring—what?" asks Cameron, not at all comforted by his answer. "That I'll just stay home with Abby indefinitely? That's a pretty big assumption. We haven't talked about it at all."

"You have nine more weeks of maternity leave," Chase answers. "And I'm sure Cuddy would give you more time. Or understand if you wanted to resign."

"You don't get it," Cameron snaps, struggling to keep her voice down so as not to disturb the baby in the other room. "I don't _want_ to resign. I don't want more time. I want to be a good mother, but—" She breaks off, choking on the surprise of sudden tears.

"But what?" asks Chase, frowning.

"I want to still be a good doctor too." Leaning forward, Cameron rests her head in her hands, hot tears stinging her eyes. This day has been overwhelming, the outside world she has so missed during her recovery crashing down with alarming weight.

"Allison." Chase softens, coming over to kneel by the side of the recliner. He rests one hand on her knee, his eyes filled with compassion. "You could never stop being a good doctor. I'm not asking you to give that up. But we've got a couple of months still to figure something out. Just—trust me, okay? We'll work it out."

Taking a breath, Cameron nods, forcing herself to relax, though fear of the unknown is still churning in her stomach. She has no choice but to believe in him, and his promises for the future. If he has proven anything in the past few months, it is that he is deserving of her utmost trust.

* * *

Reviews are always appreciated! Thank you SO much, again, for all your support. I can't say it enough.


	68. Chapter 68

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

NOTE: This is the last chapter, technically. The epilogue will be posted next weekend. The commentary will be posted midweek on my livejournal ( http :/ enigma731 .livejournal .com/ - remove spaces). You can read and comment on it there even if you don't have an account. Thank you all for being so wonderfully loyal and supportive, and going on this journey with me. I can't believe it's almost over.

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Eight

On his last day before returning to work, Chase wakes before dawn, feeling strangely rested despite being roused several times during the night to feed the baby. He's still sleeping on an air mattress in the nursery, though Abigail is thankfully beginning to settle into a more regular pattern. What he has not admitted to Cameron is that he fears his own nightmares will disturb her sleep, and thereby her ability to heal as quickly as she'd like. The dreams have returned in force since the night of Abigail's birth, and Cameron's brush with death. They've taken on a new tone now, Dibala's ghost notably absent for the first time in nearly four years. Instead, the dreams center around the fear of losing his family. It is at once a relief and a new sort of torment.

But this morning, as he watches the rose-colored light just beginning to peek in around the edges of the blinds, Chase realizes that this night has been different, entirely free from guilt or anxiety for the first time he can remember in years. And while he's far too wary to assume that the dreams are gone for good, he takes a moment to bask in the feeling of peace which seems to have settled itself in his bones. Inhaling slowly, Chase rolls off of the air mattress and gets to his feet, stretching. Moving to the window, he tips the blinds open to the scene of tranquility outside.

Abigail is sleeping soundly in her crib when he checks on her, curled up with one arm flung out across the sheets as though she might be flailing joyfully in her dreams. Her breathing is deep and even in the quiet of the early morning, telling Chase that she will rest a while longer before needing his attention again. Satisfied, he makes his way quietly into the bedroom and slips in beside Cameron, carefully wrapping his arms around her waist.

They've had to replace both sheets and mattress since that terrible night, and though he's tried his hardest to let go of the fear, there's still a sense of unease that flutters momentarily in the pit of his stomach before dissipating again. Instead he tries to center himself in the smell of her hair, the solid warmth of her body against his. He knows that she has been struggling with recovery, and the lack of independence her injuries have caused her. Only in the past week has she been well enough for him to leave the condo for short periods during the day. Yet this morning is special, an as-yet unnamed occasion, and he wishes nothing more than to see her happy again. He has a plan for this day, and though thinking about it fills him with anxiety, he knows that he is ready to take this step.

"Hey," Cameron murmurs sleepily, shifting to look at him over her shoulder.

"Good morning, gorgeous," Chase whispers, brushing his lips against her forehead. This morning he feels caught in time, as though this might be a moment during their marriage. And yet everything is simultaneously different; he remembers his fear of falling into the same traps, the same mistakes they've made before, but no longer sees that as a real possibility. They have both learned too much, come too far. For the first time, he is beginning to realize that this might be what true healing feels like.

"You're in a good mood," says Cameron, sounding slightly surprised. She cranes her neck to kiss him, hair curling softly around her face. She looks more rested this morning too, he thinks, realizing with silent surprise that it has been almost two months since her surgery, since Abigail's birth. Time seems accelerated even more now; he feels as though his daughter is already growing up before his eyes.

"I had a dream about you," says Chase, the vivid details coming back suddenly as her voice jogs his memory. At first he was only aware of the absence of nightmares, but now he realizes his subconscious has gone further than that. "It was really—nice. We were at the shore together."

"Like that vacation we never got to take," Cameron whispers, a wistful look passing over her.

"Yeah," Chase answers softly, feeling a transient tug of regret in the pit of his stomach. There will always be a little sadness in those memories, he thinks. No matter how happy they are in the future, the agony of the past will always be present somewhere, here to ground them in the reality of the hardships they have overcome.

"We'll have to take Abby sometime," says Cameron. This has become her answer to all of the experiences they've missed in the past. It never fails to make Chase smile.

"Actually, I was thinking—We could take her to the park today?" he suggests, running one hand lightly down her arm. "It's supposed to be really nice and warm. And we've got stale bread piling up in the freezer. I think the ducks would appreciate a visit."

"Are you sure—she's ready for that?" asks Cameron, tensing slightly. The doubt is evident in her eyes, but she does not refuse outright, looking cautiously hopeful at the same time.

"Yes," says Chase, shifting closer to her again. "She's doing really great. And it's a Tuesday. I doubt there'll be anyone else at the park. Besides the ducks, anyway."

Cameron smiles weakly at that, kissing him again. Closing his eyes, Chase allows himself a moment to be lost in the feel of her skin, the familiar sweet smell of her lotion. When she pulls away to catch her breath, Chase shifts lower in the bed, trailing a line of little kisses down her jaw and shoulder, watching goosebumps rise. Cameron makes a soft sound of need, and Chase slips his hand beneath the hem of her shirt. She sucks in a breath when his fingertips reach the place where her surgical scars begin, but he doesn't pull away. Pushing the fabric up, he sits back on his heels, tracing along the delicate pink lines first with his fingers, and then with his lips.

"You're beautiful," Chase murmurs, looking up at her in the light of the rising sun. There are tears streaming silently down her face, a look in her eyes he can't quite read.

Cameron opens her mouth to respond, but before she can say anything, they are interrupted by the sound of Abigail crying from the other room. Cameron looks instantly alert at the noise, sitting up and wiping the tears from her face.

"Probably ready to be fed again," says Chase, getting to his feet.

Cameron nods. "You should go."

This routine is familiar now; Chase feels as though he has literally prepared a bottle in his sleep at least once during the past month. He usually gives it to Abigail in the nursery, but this morning he carries her into the bedroom instead, settling her in Cameron's arms.

"I think you should give her the bottle," Chase says in response to her look of surprise. He's been doing most of the feeding himself, because Cameron has been unable to lift Abigail from the crib, and because he has been reluctant to disturb her rest. He knows that Cameron had hoped to breast feed, but that has proven impossible with the medications she has needed following surgery.

"All right," Cameron agrees, taking the bottle from him and kissing the top of Abigail's head.

Chase watches them for a long moment in silence, feeling at once surreal and more alive than he has in years. It's difficult to believe that a mere twelve months ago he'd been engulfed in despair, certain that happiness was forever beyond his reach. Lately he's found himself wondering where he might be now had Cameron not gotten the call about House's illness, had his spiteful attempts to keep her away succeeded after all. He is terrifyingly certain that he would be dead, or failing that would be at the very end of months spent dying in the hospital. Because of her determination, her steadfastness in the face of his anger, he is standing here now, health restored, watching his daughter grow.

"Are you ready?" asks Cameron, when Abigail has finished with her bottle.

"Definitely," says Chase, grinning as he takes the baby from her. He's gotten dressed in the meantime, and put together the bag they will take to the park, his heart pounding at its contents.

The car ride is quick and mostly silent, Cameron sitting in the back beside Abigail's carseat. The sun has climbed its way above the horizon now, warming the morning with still-pale light. The park is empty, as he's expected, the grass just beginning to grow back after the winter's snow, delicate bright green still, not yet having reached the fullness of summer. Wildflowers dot the landscape with color like a woven rug, and the air smells of sunshine and soil as they get out of the car.

They have not been back here since that summer morning nearly a year ago, right after he'd gotten the cast off his injured ankle, and Chase finds himself wondering yet again just exactly where the time has gone. They make their way over to the little bridge without discussion, Abigail in her brand new stroller, covered by the purple blanket her grandmother knitted during their visit. Chase fishes a loaf of stale bread out of the bag and hands it to Cameron, loving the way her face lights up as she opens it. The ducks appear instantly, a multitude of fluffy yellow babies and a few mallards looking a little worse for wear. Still, they are all equally enthusiastic about the stale bread, eager for a treat after the fallow of winter. Cameron looks more relaxed than she has in weeks as she watches them squabble over stray crusts, happy, free.

"You know it's been almost exactly a year since you moved here?" asks Chase, stealing his own slice of bread from the bag and crumbling it into the water. A fish head pops up in the midst of the ducks, sending them scattering momentarily while it joins the feeding frenzy.

"More than a year since House died," says Cameron, tossing another piece to entice them closer again.

"I was so angry at you then," Chase admits softly, though he knows she's all too aware. "Felt like—you'd given me all these possibilities, and then one day they were all just gone. And I knew it was my fault. _My_ choices. But—I wasn't even strong enough to admit that to myself. It was so much easier to just get drunk and be angry at the world."

Cameron pauses, watching him, then sets down the bag of bread ends to wrap her arms around his waist. "And now?" she asks softly.

Chase does not answer immediately, feeling too saturated by the peace and light of this morning to put anything into words. Cameron looks pale but radiant in the sunlight, the wind picking up pieces of her hair to frame her face. In the water, the ducks are still feasting; Abigail has fallen asleep in her stroller.

Taking a breath, Chase reaches for her hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing her knuckles. "Now I have something to ask you."

"Yeah?" breathes Cameron, looking at him as though she might somehow be able to read his mind.

Reaching into the bag again, Chase brings out the tiny box containing the ring he's spent the past few days selecting, heart pounding wildly. This ring is much smaller than the one he'd proposed with years ago, three glistening stones giving it an air of elegant balance. More fitting of her personality, he thinks now.

"I know I said that I didn't want to go back," he says softly, watching her face as she takes this in. "And I don't. But—You never gave up on me. On our family. I want this to be a new beginning. For that to be complete again. If you think we can still have that—Will you marry me?"

It feels like stepping off a cliff, into the misty depths of their future.

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Reviews are always appreciated!


	69. Chapter 69

WARNINGS: major character death; season six spoilers; addiction; sex; violence

DISCLAIMER: House is the property of David Shore, Fox and co. No copyright infringement is intended.

NOTES: I started this fic seven months ago, because I was amazed by how much the canon spoilers had upset me. I spent weeks being sad about Cameron leaving the show, almost like I had lost a real-life friend, and wondering just how I had become so very attached to these characters. A lot has changed in my life since then, in part because of this process. I've changed my intended career path, gone through two semesters of college, lost and gained several very close friends. Most importantly, I've learned that I don't need fandom or a TV show to make me happy; I am capable of creating my own joy. So now, before I share with you the end of this story, I need to thank a few of the people who have helped me so much along the way.

-First, Vita, my steadfast voice of reason, friend, and beta. Thank you for keeping me sane, putting up with me when I was acting less-than-sane, and occasionally trying to mess around with my automatic thoughts. ;p Oh, and also all that proofreading you did. That was kind of important too.

-Mae, for early conceptualization, idea-bouncing, and ultimately teaching me that I don't need a safety net. You were right. I could and did do it all by myself.

-Kait, for her endless loyalty and unconditional faith in my ability to produce something that didn't suck. And a lot of cracky laughter along the way.

-Finally, my mom, for always embracing my love of fandom and writing, as well as for many discussions of Chase, Hamlet, Macbeth, and ghosts.

And of course, thank you to my multitude of readers who have stuck with me all the way. You have made this a dream come true for me. Since I'm sure you're curious, I'll say this about future projects: There will be no sequel to this particular story. It was a complete vision from the start, and this is where it ends. I would never cheapen that by trying to spread it thinner, or follow it up. I will, however, be back with more fic. Probably in a few weeks. We'll see. I do have a bunch of real-life things coming up that I need to pay attention to. Like, you know, applying to grad school. Of course, knowing the way my brain works, I'll be back here sooner rather than later.

* * *

Epilogue

At least once every day, Cameron finds herself disturbed by the dissonance of traffic outside her office windows: car horns honking angrily, sirens screaming by. Every time it happens, she tells herself that she will become accustomed to the sounds of downtown Chicago, that sooner or later she will cease to hear it at all. But it has been six months now since she moved back here, and the noises are still just as intrusive as ever. Partly it's because her office feels too quiet on the inside; there was never time to contemplate the world outside when she'd been working in the ER here. Administrative work is comparatively slow, though no less satisfying on the whole, finally granting her the power to make the changes she's wished for all along.

"You're my last interview of the day," she tells the young doctor seated across from her, assessing the woman's reaction. She seems to radiate youth and enthusiastic idealism. Both of these things feel strangely foreign to Cameron, though it hasn't been so terribly long since she'd tried to cultivate them in herself.

"I hope that will be to my advantage, then," says the woman, obviously trying to put on a brave front. Her name is Ellen Grayson, according to her file, a well-groomed brunette with glasses too mature for her face. She graduated first in her class from Harvard Med, and has been climbing the career ladder steadily since then. The kind of ruthless success story Cameron would have envied once.

"We'll see," Cameron hedges. "Why don't you tell me why you think I should hire you for this position?"

"I went into medicine because I knew I could never be happy in the kind of job where I had to do the same thing every day," says Grayson, sounding much more confident now, effortlessly articulate. "But I've never wanted to choose just one area of specialization, either. That's why I was so excited to hear they'd chosen you as the new dean of medicine, Dr. Chase. I knew you'd want to start a department of diagnostic medicine here. Although I'm surprised your husband wasn't your first choice for department head."

"He's taking some time to work on other things," says Cameron, at once impressed and unsettled that this woman has taken the initiative to learn so much of her history. It's been a year since she changed her name officially, yet it still stands out to her in conversation, catching in her ears like it's still new. "I'm sure he'll be more than willing if the department ever needs a consult."

—

Chase is surrounded by history. There are stacks upon stacks of books, papers, and hand-scrawled notes piled on every horizontal surface within reach: coffee table, sofa cushions, even a good portion of the floor. Between his reference materials and Abigail's many brightly-colored toys strewn across the floor, it looks constantly as though a miniature whirlwind has torn through the place.

Sighing, Chase turns his focus from his dismally blank computer screen to the stack of yellowed newspaper clippings closest to him. In his mind's eye, he can picture House, bottle of Vicodin and glass of scotch in hand, voracious appetite for information—secrets—tearing through every available source. These particular clippings were originally buried in the box Wilson had gifted them at Thirteen's funeral, though the collection of items pertaining to the department's history has easily grown tenfold since Chase began to look in earnest.

The real challenge now will be to compress the pertinent information, to capture the profound influence House has had on so many lives in pages others will want to read. To put back together the pieces of his own fractured history with the department, in the hopes of finding some sort of meaning. His decision to take a leave from practicing medicine is still shrouded in doubt, though this work writing feels more purposeful than his career has in years. For all the ways in which his life is now grounded in happiness, he still lives a haunted existence in the moments of darkness, pursued by the persistence of nightmares, guilt, his own addictions. In some ways this book feels like a final attempt to capture the many ghosts and put them to rest at last.

That this decision has allowed him to stay at home with Abigail is the best part, the reason that makes him certain it will all be worthwhile in the end, though his productivity has dropped considerably since she learned to walk, hours lost in rambunctious play. Today he has accomplished almost nothing, endlessly—if pleasantly—distracted while waiting for Cameron to get home. Hearing the familiar noise of her car in the small garage at last, he folds the laptop closed and gets to his feet, trying to shake off the drowsiness of being lost in thought for so long. Outside the large windows, her garden is in full bloom; Chase has picked a selection from it, placed them in a vase on the coffee table to celebrate this day.

Cameron's eyes go to the brightly-colored arrangement the moment she walks in the door, her face lighting up. She has cut her hair shockingly short recently, and Chase finds that the difference still surprises him every time she enters a room. In her work clothes she looks both elegant and powerful, the picture of a leader. Sharp contrast to the way she has spent the weekend, in ripped jeans, on her knees and shrieking with laughter while playing with Abigail.

"Happy anniversary," Chase breathes, wrapping his arms around her as she leans in for a kiss. He has waited in anticipation of this day for weeks now, a year since their second wedding having flown by at surprising speed. Every day with his family still seems a gift, a miracle, though no longer an undeserved one. In the nineteen months since Abigail's birth, he has learned to accept this as his new reality, exquisite joy and hardship alike.

"Thank you for the flowers," says Cameron, still smiling. "They're beautiful."

"Abby and I picked them this morning," says Chase, taking a moment to breathe in the remembered joy of watching his daughter toddle through the grass, in delighted but futile pursuit of a butterfly. "How was work?"

Cameron shrugs. "Slow day. Or—comparatively slow, anyway. More interviews."

"Any standouts?" asks Chase, moving some stacks of papers to the floor so they will be able to sit on the couch.

"Not sure yet," Cameron answers, looking at the mess, but choosing not to comment. It stands out in sharp contrast to the empty near-sterility of their condo in Princeton; a home cluttered with happy things to match an equally full life. "Lots of people asked about you, though. They wanted to know whether you're ever going to be part of the new department."

"Don't know," Chase answers honestly. It is a discussion they've had before, but he still feels unprepared to make a decision. He is learning slowly to live at peace with the unknown.

"That's what I told them," says Cameron, her attention shifting. "Where's Abby now? She never naps this late anymore."

"She's at your parents'," answers Chase, anticipation stirring again in the pit of his stomach. Having Cameron's parents a block away had been one of the deciding factors in their move, at once a challenge and a blessing as he continues working to win back their trust. "They agreed to watch her tonight so I could take you out."

—

The night breeze is just beginning to hint of autumn chill, smelling of herbs and honeysuckle as it sweeps gently across the grounds of the botanical gardens at sunset. Cameron inhales deeply, feeling the multitude of responsibilities which are ever-present in her mind fall away until there is only the peace of this moment, and the conviction that they have earned this night of celebration. That Chase has thought to bring her here to celebrate their wedding anniversary seems especially fitting; the yard around their new little house has been one of her greatest joys throughout the spring and summer. This garden by night is an ethereal place, a unique and surreal kind of beauty filled with the moon and the magic of September.

"What are you thinking?" asks Chase, catching her hand as she pauses on the path. They are standing in the midst of the bonsai collection, and in the darkness it feels almost as though it could be populated by fairies.

"I was thinking that you know me too well, bringing me here tonight," Cameron teases, turning to kiss him in front of the azaleas.

"Well, I have had a few years of practice," Chase answers lightly, then turns more serious again, as though he's just realized exactly what he's said. There is something bittersweet about this occasion as well; they are both acutely aware that this should have been an anniversary celebrated five years and countless hardships earlier. Now, to Cameron, all the fears and doubts feel like an enormous waste, the possibility for disaster paling in comparison to the constant joy that is their unlikely family.

"And was it worth it?" she asks softly, attention caught momentarily by the way her ring glitters in the moonlight as she rests her hands on his shoulders.

"What do you mean?" asks Chase, frowning ever so slightly, his eyes looking far away in thought.

"It took us so long to get here," whispers Cameron, almost afraid to hear his response. A part of her feels it would be better to simply leave these things unspoken, but she knows he must be having similar thoughts, and she aches to know that he has come to the same conclusion.

"Maybe we never had a choice," Chase answers, kissing her ring finger delicately. "Maybe we needed all this to learn how to be happy. What that really means."

"And are you?" asks Cameron, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Are you _disgustingly_ happy?" She cannot help smiling at that particular memory, despite the aching tug of nostalgia it awakens in the pit of her stomach. But she can appreciate it now. It no longer brings grief or despair, but rather the stark contrast between the ease of hopeful naiveté, and the rich layers of real life she has learned to love in its place.

"Not yet," answers Chase, honestly. "But I'm still working on it." His scars are still present, even now beneath his smile. He will always struggle with the past, thinks Cameron, and perhaps also with addiction, as evidenced by his most recent slip just after moving. Never again will he be the man she married five years ago, forever changed by their shared history, together and apart. But he is the man she loves now with all her heart, her husband, her partner in the unforeseen.

—

Abigail is nearly asleep by the time her grandparents bring her home. It's well past her bedtime, but she wakes up again at the sound of Cameron's voice, insistent on her usual nightly ritual though she can barely keep her head up.

Chase carries her into the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair and settling her against his chest. He hasn't bothered to select any of the many brightly-colored books which now line the shelf at the far end of the room, knowing that Abigail will be asleep well before he could finish any of them. Instead he closes his eyes and begins to rock, centering himself in the remembered tranquility of the garden tonight and the sweet smell of his daughter's feathery dark hair.

"Good night comb, good night brush," he begins softly, letting the words come from memory, picturing the familiar illustrations in the well-worn book as he speaks. "Good night nobody, good night mush. Good night stars, good night air. Good night noises everywhere." The last he finishes in a whisper, the rhythm of Abigail's breathing telling him she is already dreaming.

When he looks up again, Cameron is standing in the doorway in her pajamas, watching silently. Meeting her eyes for a moment, Chase gets to his feet, careful not to wake the baby. Cameron meets him in the middle of the room, wrapping her arms around his waist so that Abigail is cradled between them. They stay like this in stillness for a long moment before she steps back, watching Chase tuck Abigail into her crib.

Following Cameron into the bedroom, he slips out of his clothes quickly, feeling peculiarly as though he might be shedding some of the burden of memory in the passage of this milestone day. Cameron waits until he gets into bed beside her, then turns out the light, letting the moon shine through the curtains.

"I love you," she whispers, shifting with a soft rustle of the sheets.

"I love you too," breathes Chase, curling himself around her so that his hand rests over her heart, the steady rhythm of her pulse mirroring the rocking chair's motion.

Ahead of him this night is deep, dreamless sleep.

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